The Needs of The One
by Theyumenoinu
Summary: It was believed that Khan's blood had been the miracle remedy, but now it was the very thing that was killing him. Spock had lost him once; he wouldn't allow himself to lose him again. Sick!Kirk. Kirk/Spock Slash (Slow Build).
1. Chapter One

**Summary: It was believed that Khan's blood had been the miracle remedy, but now it was the very thing that was killing him. Spock lost him once; he wouldn't allow himself to lose him again. Sick!Kirk**

**Pairing: Kirk/Spock (Slow Build)**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own the Star Trek franchise or its characters.**

**WARNING: This fanfiction will contain illness, graphic violence, and language. **

**~*STID SPOILER ALERT*~**

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**The Needs of The One**

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**Chapter One**

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Spock was unclear of the reason that prompted this reaction.

Albeit, her fluctuating emotions consistently tended to bewilder him and pester him enough to immediately prompt a thorough examination on their relationship upon numerous occasions, he appeared to have failed in contemplating the possibility that she would tire from adapting to his constrictions. It was strange that he had not assessed the scenario at some point during countless sessions of meditation on the matter. And to say he was anything but befuddled by the sudden shift of her personality would be a gross misconception. Her solemn demeanor elicited a most illogical response—a peculiar discomfort as he stood in her presence.

"How long?" Her whisper expelled an unspoken desperation. This woman whom he had courted for 2.3 years, who harbored an incredible will, an aptitude for language, and a staggering intellect was now deteriorating rapidly before him. She shrank under his gaze in silent defeat, causing her to appear small, fragile—a shell of her former self.

A weighted pressure bore down upon him as though the gravity of the room had significantly increased instantaneously. Illogical as they were currently aboard an environmentally controlled vessel. Unless the device had succumbed to an unanticipated nullified state—very unlikely—he was momentarily rendered aghast at the sensation—also illogical.

Vulcans do not feel.

"I do not know." He admitted honestly.

The dark depths of her eyes averted away as he was taken aback by the sudden quizzical smile spreading steadily upon her face.

"I would have done anything you wanted me to." She laughed earnestly, "I could have loved you the rest of my life."

Spock was absent of any doubt that her statement was indeed genuine.

"I understand."

Her eyes abruptly sought his, scrutinizing him heavily with a cynical glare.

"_Do_ _you_?" The octaves of her voice lowered; her tone incisive.

Spock fumbled with the baffling concept of Humans' compelling need to confirm the depth of his comprehension. Or possibly the intention of the question was not to impose discrepancy, but to delve into his introspect of the current situation. A concealed question lurked beneath the vague query.

_Did you love me?_

"I confess that I do not understand." He stated flatly and she relented, deflating as she perceived the message.

He did not love her.

"I see." She staggered, "When did you become aware it was _him_?"

A precarious assumption as he had not enlightened her of that fact. It seems her perceptive skills were another addition to her list of intriguing attributes. Clasping his hands at the small of his back, he regarded her curiously for a moment. He admitted the romantic inclination towards the beginning was rather exceptional. Indulging in forbidden impetuous activities between a Vulcan professor and a Human student provoked a certain rebellious desire against the laws of Surak, and his father. Possibly, that was the initial intention as he consistently withheld romantic displays under the scrutiny of their peers, only allowing rare displays to be initiated by her.

Her eyebrows furrowed, releasing a breath of frustration.

"Please don't deny it. I saw the expression on your face after you ran by me on the bridge. I noticed your reaction as he died. You were so distraught; I had to stop you from killing Khan. And the _only _reason you did stop was due to _his name._"

Inclining his head, he paused to contemplate his admission to the subject. Humans were easily bruised in these matters and he held no desire to cause any further damage. However, his lack of admission could easily be misconstrued as an act of betrayal.

"I did not intend to harm you."

She sighed.

"I know you didn't, but I wish you could have identified this sooner." Pausing for a moment, she whispered softly, "And I wish I had also." She lamented, averting her gaze away as a glossy sheen settled upon her eyes.

"I apologize, Nyota."

Another frustrated breath escaped her before nodding curtly. Pivoting on her heel, she stalked towards the entrance of the observation deck before abruptly halting. With the curve of her back facing him, her voice quavered, "I hope he makes you happy."

Simultaneously as she exited, Jim rounded the corner, quickly diverting out of her path as she brushed passed, bristling. Bemused, his eyebrows furrowed, mouth gaping slightly as he gawked after her fleetingly before returning his attention to Spock. As he sauntered inside, Spock mused over the state of his form. The depletion of muscle mass astonished him as he was unable to observe the percentage lost whilst Jim was bedridden. Albeit he maintained a firm structure, Spock perceived a diminutive persistent tremble to his frame that seemed to be unbeknownst to him. A faint flush tainted the slightly ashen skin upon his face—highly disconcerting as the doctor once conveyed his concerns over the potential effects of Khan's blood.

"What's the matter with her?" Jim's voice jarred him from his reserved speculations.

"The current mutual status has been nullified and she is…displeased."

The scowl melted from his face, eyebrows hiking slightly as his eyes downcast.

"I see." Shifting his weight absentmindedly, he fidgeted nervously with the hem of the gold tunic, "I'm sorry." He lamented.

A perplexing comment, Jim was not at fault for their separation yet he was apologizing as though he had committed the act.

"I do not understand your reason for apologizing when you are not at fault."

Jim issued a non-committal shrug, "I'm just sorry things didn't pan out since both of you seemed…" He trailed off, eyes fixating on a distant focal point, unseeing. "Content?"

Spock arched an eyebrow at his ambiguous comment, "Indeed?"

A pregnant pause filtered through the room as Jim shifted restlessly, tense.

He cleared his throat, "So, I was looking for you." He laughed nervously, hand rubbing feverishly at the nape of his neck. "I need your help running a few diagnostics before we ship off from space-dock." He produced the PADD Spock had overlooked upon his entrance, clutched loosely in his hand, extending it out to him.

"I see." Spock replied, accepting the device, surprised to find it had warmed with the heat of Jim's hand. He glanced over the screen, a few minor repairs to re-check, simple tasks that an Ensign could handle. Then he stilled when his eyes ghosted over the words:

_Engineering: Warp Core Evaluation_

"Captain," A strange constriction occurred in his side, "would it not be more proficient for Mr. Scott to assess the condition of the core?" He inquired, glancing up as Jim turned away, arms folding in front of his chest.

"It would." He murmured, "But I can't ask him to."

"It is within his required parameters, my evaluation would—"

"Spock." Jim interjected, his tone even, "Please?" The startling blue hues of his eyes connected with him, a gentle pleading in their depths. Such an odd gesture; he couldn't decipher the logic behind offering him a choice. Jim was his commanding officer—Captain— his demands outranked his own. What was his reasoning?

"This is not a command?"

Jim sighed, "No, it's not. If you aren't comfortable with it, I won't force you."

Spock observed as Jim's muscled tensed, his hand gripping his arms until the knuckles glowed white.

"Vulcans do not feel uncomfortable." He stated flatly.

Jim deflated before issuing a lopsided grin, washing the tension from his face. Calm flooded through Spock at Jim's ease, his own muscles uncoiling from the sudden impulsive tension.

How peculiar.

"Right, of course they don't." Jim jested, the grin expanding. "C'mon, I'll escort you." Pivoting, he took a few long strides before abruptly losing his bearings, stumbling sideways into the wall.

"Captain!" Spock exclaimed, rushing to his side. Reaching out, he laid his hand upon his shoulder, stunned to find it drenched with perspiration, an immense heat radiating from the cloth. Jim panted, the flush illuminating his features a dark shade of red, beads clinging to his brow before steadily dripping down toward his jawline. "Are you ill? Should I alert the Doctor?" He inquired hastily; eyes fixated on his face, shifting his stance to better aid him if he should lose consciousness.

Jim swallowed thickly, clenching his eyes shut briefly as he inhaled slow deep breaths.

"Spock." His voice straining as he batted Spock's hand away, "I'm all right, just a little disoriented."

This was a lie. He was not "all right". Spock had long ascertained a crucial fact about James Kirk; he bore an insufferable indifference in the matter of his wellbeing. This disposition caused the already disgruntled CMO to evolve a gross intolerable state. And he wasn't quite certain if on occasion, the captain would purposely rile him by eluding the medical bay when severely injured, eliciting the doctor's warranted presence on the bridge which tended to result in an inevitable cumbersome scene.

"As I have ascertained your condition upon my own observation, you are not well. I insist I escort you to the medical bay for a thorough examination." He said firmly, bristling as Jim waved him away nonchalantly.

"It's nothing, I'll be fine. I'm heading to the bridge, I'm sure headquarters have already transmitted our first orders by now." Jim muttered as he regained his bearings, hastily striding from the room without a second glance.

Spock shook his head slightly.

The man was truly insufferable.

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Fear was not logical. It's an emotional hindrance which cripples its victims and Spock would contest to the possibility of succumbing to it.

As he descended in the turbolift, he was stunned by an invisible knot forming in the pit of his stomach, a pressure steadily building in his lungs, hindering his ability to breathe comfortably. Perturbed by the sudden overwhelming sensation, his mind fleeted, groping for a subject to rid him of this unease but to no avail. He had not anticipated such a strong reaction to occur as he headed for the engineering sector, it was simply not logical to fear machinery.

The doors hissed open and he strode from the enclosed space into the vast area aligned with an array of bulky machinery. He bustled through the narrow walks until he reached his destination and paused. The layout remained untarnished, shrouded in an eerie calm, abandoned.

In a trance, he padded over to the door, gazing down through the glass and felt a sudden spike of horror as he saw Jim inching forward, skin discolored and pale, eyes half-lidded and dim. Spock knelt quickly, his hands compressing against the cool glass, unable to reach him, unable to save him.

Then he blinked.

Jim was gone.

The decontamination chamber was empty, Jim was not inside. He was safe.

Alive.

Spock released a shaky breath, the pads of his fingers gliding along the cool surface as he regained his equilibrium. The image had been astonishingly vivid; he'd never experienced such an astounding occurrence while conscious. His body trembled as the surge of adrenaline ebbed, a memory leaking through the solid shields, slipping beneath an inconspicuous crack. Spock was thrown forcefully into the memory.

"_I want you to know why I came back for you, why I couldn't let you die."_

_The blue eyes were coated with pain, fear—captivating him. Tears spilling down Jim's face as he helplessly clung onto what little energy he still possessed. Spock's side clenched, he wished he wouldn't exert himself, speaking appeared exceedingly taxing as Jim's painful gasps pierced his ears, constricting his throat at the sound. _

"_Because you are my friend." _

_No. That reason was vague; it was not only due to Jim crashing through his social barriers. There was more, though he lacked the focus to pinpoint it. The blue eyes returned the unspoken thought and it stirred beneath the dilated pupils, so clear and yet so far from comprehension. The ghost of the emotion fleeting between them briefly before Jim's unsteady hand weakly pressed against the glass. _

_Was this action indicating his need for comfort?_

_He returned the gesture in the form of the ta'al. Gasping slightly as Jim adjusted his hand to match. Was it possible he comprehended its meaning? _

_Then the blue orbs darted back, staring intently into his._

_Jim understood._

"—ock."

_Choking, struggling against the pain, his eyes fixated only on Spock. _

"Mr. Spock!"

Spock jerked as reality flooded back, the memory fading. Still kneeling, his forehead rested against the door, his breathing shallow and ragged as his vision blurred with unshed tears. His loss of control was unacceptable; he promptly needed to correct this dilemma. He required meditation.

"Mr. Spock, can you hear me, sir?" A thick Scottish accent blared in his ears.

He swallowed thickly, fighting against the constricted muscles of his throat, "Yes, Mr. Scott. How may I be of assistance?" He fluently rose, straightening his uniform, clasping his hands at the small of his back with his gaze fixated on the glass door.

"Uh well, sir, I was jus' wondering wha' you were doing over here?" A beat, "If this is a bad time…"

Spock glimpsed over to the engineer. His arms hung loosely at his sides, an anguished and puzzled expression decorated his features, scrutinizing Spock with an incredulous stare.

"I am merely ascertaining the status of the mechanisms in the core, examining its current functions." He stated quickly.

The man's eyebrows furrowed.

"Ah, forgive me, sir, bu' I cannae understand how you are capable of examining anythin' from all tha' way over there?"

He stood straighter, acknowledging his underestimation of the engineer's perception.

"I was thoroughly examining the mechanisms of the doors, their functionality is crucial to the compartment."

The man nodded, eyebrows peaking, a smile twitching at the sides of his mouth.

"I can guarantee they are in working order, sir."

Spock nodded, "Indeed. As you are the Head Engineer, I will begrudge you the task of sufficiently examining its functions. After you have finished, you must promptly report its status to the Captain, am I understood?"

Mr. Scott appeared befuddled for a moment before issuing an "aye, sir", allowing Spock to retreat from the area. Jim was awaiting his presence on the bridge, expecting his arrival within the next hour for cast off, but his mind was in a state of chaos which compromised is ability to perform his duties proficiently. It would take the engineer time to examine the core thus allowing him to seize this small window as an opportunity to briefly return to his private quarters.

"_I want you to know why I came back for you, why I couldn't let you die."_

He needed to meditate.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading and please review.**


	2. Chapter Two

**The Needs of The One**

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**Chapter Two**

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A chirping penetrated the enclosed space. Spock's even breaths hitched as his structure steadily regained its awareness, flooding back from the recesses of deep internal conflict. The meditation proved to be futile as he was unable to suppress and detain the staggering memories of Jim's death, and the attempt was surprisingly draining—unsettling. Possibly when the first Alpha shift would end, he could contact _New Vulcan_ to discuss the confounding development. Perhaps he would attain an altered approach to aid his involuntary perturbing responses.

Untangling his legs, he swiftly rose from the mat, padding across the candlelit room to the desk. He did not desire to be disturbed, however, he was aware of the possibility he would remain within the trance far longer than anticipated.

Snatching up the small device, he flipped it open and replied, "Spock here."

"_Mr. Spock, could you meet me on the bridge?" _Jim's voice was firm, absent of vexation.

"Yes, Captain. I will arrive momentarily."

"_Thank you, Mr. Spock. Kirk out."_

Spock shut the device as his thoughts wandered. Jim had endured a vast amount of tribulations in a short span of time and yet his fortitude never wavered. Forging on as though the events were merely an insignificant afflicted hindrance and all the while possessing such buoyancy in his endeavors, it astounded him. Albeit, he was perturbed by Jim's deficient ability to adhere to standard procedures and protocol, he could admit the man's tactics were intriguing, exceedingly fortuitous, and virtuous—gradually establishing an admiration for the unorthodox approach to his methods.

Jim was an equalizing factor to his logical disposition.

He traipsed across his quarters, extinguishing the candles before departing for the bridge. As he entered the turbolift, Spock could not deny the strange sensation crawling through him at the thought of being in close proximity with Jim. His heart rate increased, pounding against his side with such force, he considered seeking out the doctor for an examination. Noticing that this reaction seemed inevitable whenever Jim was near, and the fact that this man held such capabilities to bring forth this response unsettled him deeply.

The lift abruptly halted, the doors hissing open to reveal the very doctor he had been contemplating to seek out. The man's eyes widened marginally for a brief moment before he stepped stiffly into the lift, pressing the control pad with the pad of his thumb.

"Spock." He nodded, rotating to face the doors as the lift ascended.

"Doctor." Spock replied evenly. "Are you not currently required to oversee duties in the medical bay?"

The doctor's eyes rolled in their sockets, a most perplexing Human gesture. He studied the motion carefully, aware it represented severe exasperation. However, the action of expelling emotions with the use of his eyes was exceedingly peculiar.

"No, Spock, my temporary absence is not going to hinder the functions of the medical team." He grumbled, sighing before pivoting slightly to face him, "How are your hands?"

"They have healed adequately." Spock stated, folding his arms behind him, clasping his hands at the small of his back. The bones had mended well, but they still ached immensely from the fight with Khan.

"Well, I still want to take a look at them. Stop by after your shift, alright?"

"I assure you, Doctor, they are healed. Any further pursuit of treatment would be illogical."

An aggravated huff echoed in the small space, "You and your damn logic. I'm a doctor, let me do my job." He groused, "If I don't see you in the medical bay this evening, I'll be personally making a house call to your quarters."

Spock nodded, aware that any counter argument would only disgruntle the man further.

"Have you seen Jim recently?" He inquired, an eyebrow hiked curiously.

The question intrigued him as Jim's friendship with the doctor was infamous, the pair was nearly inseparable.

"I have indeed been in contact with the Captain. May I inquire the reason to your inquiry?"

An irritated snort followed another perplexing eye roll.

"He's been _avoiding_ me, and I want to know _why_." He griped as his hands crossed across his chest, eyebrows furrowing.

"Perhaps his intentions pertain to his current condition."

"What?" The doctor exclaimed, "What condition? Is something wrong?" He exhaled audibly before mumbling, "Dammit, I had a feeling he was hiding something from me. The damn idiot, he's going to get himself killed one of these days."

"I have observed a fever, and he confessed to succumbing to disorientation. It is concerning and I've urged him to seek a medical examination, however, he did not acquiesce my request."

"I'm not surprised. Eluding medical bay is his forte." He huffed, "I swear that kid is going to be the death of me." Shifting his weight, he released another audible exhale. "Thanks for the heads up, Spock. I'm thankful for an extra set of eyes and ears when it comes to his health."

Although the doctor often expressed animosity toward him, he was grateful for his sincere appreciation.

A hiss pierced the air, disturbing their conversation as the doors swished open. The doctor's fists clenched tightly, whipping out his tricorder as he marched forward, face tinting red. Spock ensued silently, veering off from the direct path to the Captain's chair to his assigned station, desiring to avoid the predictable scene that was about to unfold. Albeit he felt informing the doctor was justified for the sake of Jim's wellbeing, a tiny amount of remorse flared through him. Fluently sitting onto the curved chair, he hastily turned his back as the disgruntled man reached his desired destination.

"Jim, what is this I hear about a fever?" The doctor chided and after a beat exclaimed, "Good God, man! You're running a high temperature!"

"Relax, Bones." Jim's nonchalant tone sent a trickle of anger rushing through Spock's core.

"Relax? You _want _me to relax?" The man groused, "The only way that I'll possibly be _able_ to relax around here is when I'm _dead_. Dammit, Jim, you really piss me off sometimes."

A frivolous chuckle floated over the bridge.

"When don't I?"

"Get down to medical bay."

"We're about to cast off." Jim countered.

"Dammit, man, don't _force_ me to sedate you. If you don't recall in that thick skull of yours, I'm the Chief Medical Officer and I can _order _you if I feel I have due cause."

"It's just a fever, nothing I can't handle. By the way, _how_ did you find out?" He inquired suspiciously.

There was another irritated snort as the doctor counted, "I own a magical crystal ball."

"Seriously, Bones." Jim relented.

"Unlike you, Jim, I'm not an open book. Now get down to medical bay before I have to drag your ass down there."

"It's very tempting, but I think I'll pass." Jim chuckled again, causing Spock to rotate in his seat to glance at him.

"Captain."

Jim averted his attention from the doctor to him, blue hues ablaze against his ashen skin. Patches of red scattered over his features, and his form slumped weakly in the chair. It was evident that Jim was incredibly ill. The invisible knot returned, coiling in the pit of his stomach. The sudden sensation overwhelmed him, this did not bode well.

He issued a lopsided grin, "Yes, Mr. Spock?"

"I insist you heed the Doctor's concerns and return to duty once you've obtained optimal health." Spock hastily added, "It is imperative to the functionality of the crew as you are responsible for critical decisions."

The smile faded, a pained expression tightened the loose skin around his eyes.

"All right." He murmured, "You have the _Conn. _Mr. Spock, I'll return shortly." As he slid from the chair, the doctor shot Spock a grateful glance. An expression that he had only encountered once before while he had offered to watch over Jim, allowing the doctor rest after days of attending to him once Khan's blood had been injected into his system.

Spock would usually refrain from interfering in their banters, however as he ascended from the chair and strode over to the center where the doctor and Jim stood, he acknowledged his interference had been essential.

"I expect a full report on the Captain's status as soon as you are able, Doctor." Spock noted how Jim swayed slightly on his feet.

"Yeah, yeah, Spock, don't get your pointy ears in a knot." The doctor grumbled, waving a hand toward him, eliciting Spock's eyebrow to arch in confusion.

"I do not possess such ability, Doctor, and I do not find the action possible."

Jim flashed him a smile, mirth and amusement radiating from his lackluster form. Unexpected warmth tingled in his body at the sight, his breath hitching for a moment.

"C'mon, Bones. We better leave before you impair him with all your tantalizing idioms."

Spock stared at the broadside of Jim's back as the pair sauntered toward the lift, an arising desire to pursue them and oversee the examination stirred feverishly behind his solid shields. His muscles tensed as he fought against the desire, stiffly descending onto the warmed seat as the lift's doors hissed shut, deciding that if he did not hear from the medical bay within an hour, he would ascertain Jim's status personally. For the moment, his attention toward the operation of the ship was crucial.

"Lieutenant Uhura."

Her formed stiffened imperceptibly, back facing toward him.

"Yes, Mr. Spock?" She inquired bleakly.

"Could you relay the current orders from Starfleet?"

"Aye, sir, we are to set coordinates for _New Vulcan_ to pick up Ambassador Sarek and another Ambassador before rendezvousing with the _U.S.S Constellation_ to board the remaining dignitaries for transport to _Babel._"

"What is the identity of the second Ambassador?" He inquired curiously.

"Starfleet has deemed the identity as confidential, sir."

"I see." He stated evenly, "Inform Starfleet we have received orders and request permission for departure."

"Aye, sir."

"Mr. Chekov, inform the crew of our itinerary and Mr. Sulu, set course for _New Vulcan_, warp factor six."

After a combined "aye, sir", he gazed at the screen before him. His mind reeled with the current events. Jim's unstable health was indeed troubling. And who was the unidentified Ambassador? Surely it could not be the possibility of his elder counterpart, his interference with the conference would initially breach the prime directive of this universe.

Unless there were unperceived reasons he was unaware of.

An hour into warp, Spock assigned the _Conn. _to Sulu before striding from the bridge into the lift. The descent was tedious as his mind wandered to the latent illness that could cause the degree of adverse effects. Khan's blood appeared to heal all ailments; however it had not been thoroughly tested for defects. The possibilities were infinite which unnerved him.

The doors abruptly hissed open, cutting him from all thought as a flushed, languid Jim stumbled inside.

"Captain! Why are you not in medical bay?"

Silently, Jim pressed the control pad for deck five before leaning heavily against the curved wall. His eyes fixated on a distant object, unseeing.

"Captain?" Spock approached him, resting a hand against his arm.

He didn't respond as a glossy sheen coated his eyes, his throat muscles constricting as he swallowed.

"Captain, I am concerned." His hand clenched around his arm nervously, heart rate accelerating, "Please respond."

Jim shook his head solemnly as his voice quavered, "Let me go to my quarters, Spock."

The doors swished open and Jim shrugged the arm from him and strode from the lift. Stunned, Spock gazed after him before hastily pursuing him. Unless the doctor had cleared his leave—unlikely—he could not allow Jim to be alone in this condition. He hustled into Jim's quarters before the door slid shut, eliciting a defeated sigh from the man.

"Captain."

Jim shook his head as he strode to the desk, trembling as he descended onto the chair before burying his face into his hands. The lighting was poor, and the glow illuminated his ashen skin, framing his slack figure.

Groaning, he replied, "We're in my quarters, Spock. Call me Jim."

Spock took a hesitant step closer, his arms hanging helplessly at his sides.

"As I am still on duty, it would not be permissible to address you so informally." He stated flatly, "Has Doctor McCoy released you?"

Jim sighed heavily, brushing a hand through the sandy blond hair. Tracing Jim's movements with his eyes, he cautiously observed his demeanor. Escape was not unusual for James Kirk as it was well-known that he detested the medical bay. Although, escaping only to return to his private quarters instead of the bridge was indeed strange. The man was infamous for his determination.

Silence filtered through the room, the dim lighting casting shadows against the still form that sat slumped over the desk.

"Spock." Jim breathed, the softness of his voice constricted the muscles in Spock's throat.

"Yes, Captain?"

"I'm dying."

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**A/N: Thank you for reading and please review. **


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N: Thank you for 50+ followers! I have done my research on diseases (with having family members with such diseases as well), and thoroughly check my facts before I spew medical jargon in my writing. This will pertain to an actual illness; however, it will be altered for the sake of the plot. Thank you for taking this into consideration. **

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**The Needs of The One**

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**Chapter Three**

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Leonard McCoy was an exceptional doctor—his intuitive knowledge toward the reanimation of the tribble's dead tissue once Khan's platelets were injected had initially saved Jim's life. Albeit he was at first apprehensive to the man's malcontent demeanor—particularly after forsaking his apparent Terran referenced term, "best friend" on _Delta Vega_—he expeditiously acknowledged the man's acrimonious quips as a certain credible defensive strategy to divert emotion, especially whilst on the topic of Jim. Commonly, the doctor disputed to whom would receive condemnation when casualties occurred in the line of duty—specifically the captain—but uncharacteristically refrained from any accusation of remiss judgments pertaining to Jim's demise. If not softening toward Spock once Jim's heart commenced pulsation.

The man perplexed him immensely.

However, a fondness for the doctor was inevitable with his attentiveness toward the captain's health in times of peril. Though his methods to sustain Jim's wellbeing were at times illogical, Spock's concerns would abruptly be rendered inconsequential whenever the doctor was present. With staggering determination, he would assure Spock that he wouldn't surrender to the complexities of unidentified ailments, working tirelessly to produce a proper remedy.

This was indeed not the case at the moment.

The man slouching against the wall of the office was unrecognizable—a bewildered expression plastered upon his features, shoulders slumped in silent defeat, hand trembling diminutively as his fingers rubbed against his brow, loose skin rolling and stretching beneath.

"I do not understand." Spock stated, "Could you specify the ailment?"

The doctor released an exasperated sigh.

"No, Spock, not completely…" The fingers fell away as he pushed himself from the wall, meandering over to his desk to retrieve the PADD from its surface. "Besides the fever, his strength has diminished and he claims to be fatigued often. The labs show high levels of malignant leukocytes within his bone marrow, deeming it cancerous." He paused, inhaling a shaky breath, hands clenching the device until the knuckles glowed white, voice straining as he continued, "However, even though all signs are pointing to it, his other symptoms differ vastly. Not only are the immature leukocytes infiltrating the healthy blood cells, but he appears anemic, having already lost five percent of his blood. Also the functions of his organs have altered, steadily poisoning him, leading to an inevitable shut down at any given moment."

The odd sensation of constriction in his side returned, hands flexing as he spoke, "You have not deciphered the precise ailment?"

"No, dammit!" He snapped, slamming down the device with remarkable force, "If I knew what the hell was going on, I'd be working on a cure! I have no idea where to begin with this! His body has changed drastically. My previous knowledge of his biochemical functions has no credibility now!"

Spock's head ticked to the side, "Are you suggesting that you are impeded to preform your required medical duties, Doctor?" A trace of acrimony underlined his tone.

The doctor's features tinted red at Spock's accusation, hands clenching and flexing, nostrils flared, "What are you trying to say? If you think for one minute I'm going to give up on Jim, you pointy-eared _bastard_, I'm going to—"

"I harbor no doubts in the matter of your concerns toward the Captain; however, you have stated your incompetence in seeking a suitable remedy thus leading me to assume you have instantaneously deserted the task." He interjected, arms sliding behind him, clasping his wrist at the small of his back, struggling to detain their conspicuous trembling, "Have I been mistaken, Doctor?"

The man stilled, paling as his mouth hung slightly agape.

"You're right." He stated meekly.

Spock's eyebrow arched in curiosity, "Could you elaborate on your statement?" Eyes trailing the doctor's movements as he stiffly rounded the desk, releasing a long audible breath before collapsing onto the chair.

"You were correct when you said I'd already given up hope in procuring a treatment. Of course, I'd never give up hope that Jim would survive this, but…" A glossy sheen settled upon his eyes as he scrubbed at his chin feverishly, "I was at a loss on how to help him." A disheartened chuckle escaped his lips, "I'm afraid that I may do something wrong…I'm afraid of losing him." He murmured.

Spock was struck with shock at the man's sudden admission. Either the man held a certain confidence in Spock that he hadn't been aware of until this moment, or he had succumbed to a certain degree of despair and was unable to maintain his satire. It was evident that he was gravely troubled, and a small amount of remorse rose within Spock for his insensitivity toward the emotionally compromised doctor.

Fear was illogical, yet it overwhelmed Spock at the mere thought of losing Jim. His body responded as it had in the engineering sector, muscles coiling and constricting, the pressure returning to his lungs.

"_I'm scared Spock, help me not be."_

If only he had been able to admit in that moment or allow himself now to dissolve his control in front of the man before him—reveal what lurked beneath his shields.

He too was afraid.

McCoy shook his head, rising sluggishly from the chair before shuffling toward him. His hand rose, hesitating briefly before laying gently upon his shoulder, hazel eyes downcast.

"Right now, he needs you more than ever, Spock." Muttering under his breath, his hand issuing a reassuring squeeze on Spock's shoulder, "We'll figure this out. Just…make him happy in the time being. As illogical as it may sound to you, it will help him in the long run."

Happy. The word brought forth the ghost of Nyota's final comments to him.

"_I hope he makes you happy."_

The image of Jim's mirthful grin slid from the depth of his subconscious, the captivating light from his eyes that seemed to enthrall him in a swirl of extravagant hues of blue, stealing the breath from his body played at the forefront of his mind.

He could not allow that light to fade.

"_I want you to know why I went back for you, why I couldn't let you die."_

Perhaps his fears pertained to the same reason Jim couldn't allow Spock to perish, the ghost of the emotion flooding back. It was not friendship, reaching a depth he had not encountered, disorienting and bemusing in its meaning.

The reason eluded him.

* * *

Alpha shift ended without disruption, the bridge team gathered and cleaned their stations hastily as their replacements filed in. Jim hadn't reported for duty, hauling away inside his private quarters for the duration of the shift. Normally, Spock would be compelled to state standard procedure, however, after conversing with the doctor he concluded Jim required rest. Acknowledging Jim's incapability of discerning when his Human body has reached its limits, Spock opted to silently place Jim's initial duties onto himself, disregarding the puzzled stares he received from the bridge crew.

Upon Jim's confession of his deteriorating state, Spock had swiftly exited his quarters, b-lining it down to the med-bay without a second glance and promptly returned to the bridge once the conversation reached a displeasing conclusion. His mind in a state of unease as he ascended from the chair, he stalked towards the turbolift, conjuring a scenario to aid him in ascertaining Jim's current status.

Spock needed to see him.

Illogical—there was nothing beneficial from the sight of the captain with only the exception of occupational related hindrances.

However, he could not deny the perturbing tug, a silent guide calling for him. His thoughts raced as they narrowed on the subject of Jim. Why could he not deflect the consistent images of the man? How could he easily slip beneath Spock's solid shields, eliciting such bewildering responses? A memory flickered to life as the lift descended, enthralling him.

"_The truth is…I'm going to miss you." Jim's blue eyes bored into his, eyebrows lifting expectantly, patiently waiting for Spock's response—an unusual trait for his character. _

_The admission startled him, mouth gaping to respond that he too would "miss" him but quickly composed himself. This was not logical—Vulcans do not yearn in absence. _

_Jim released an aggravated huff at his lack of reaction, stalking away from him, miffed. Spock studied the broad back as he retreated, mesmerizing the curve of his form—his fluent motions. This man who had rescued him moments from death while disregarding the potential consequences would now serve his duties without Spock's aid—would cease to be his captain._

_This situation immensely displeased him—illogical and peculiar._

A hissing jarred him from the memory, doors swishing open, revealing the familiar deck. Spock inhaled deeply before abruptly exiting, traipsing through the corridor. His private quarters fleeted by before he halted outside Jim's, scrutinizing the metal apprehensively, acknowledging that Jim could not desire to see him.

"_Right now, he needs you more than ever, Spock."_

The doctor's words rung clearly as he reached for the chime, fingers caressing the button gingerly, seconds from pressing it when the door swished open unexpectedly—startling him as he was met with the blue hues of Jim's eyes. The colors contrasted against the red rims encasing them, widening marginally with surprise.

"Spock?" Jim inquired incredulously, "What are you doing here?"

He quickly retracted his hand, scanning Jim's form, eagerly searching for traces of frailty.

"I merely came to accept your proposal for this pastime referred to as 'Chess' since you have insisted my participation on numerous occasions."

The eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him with suspicion.

"I see." Exhaling an audible breath, his hand brushed through the sandy hair anxiously. "Well, alright, come in then." Pivoting, he sauntered back inside.

Spock hesitated, baffled by the nonchalant demeanor—absent of resentment from the previous occurrence. He entered, observing Jim's movements as he hustled through the room, collecting the materials and carefully setting the pieces onto the desk.

"Are you just going to stand there like my own personal statue, or are you going to come join me?" He muttered, eyes fixated on the project at hand.

A reflexive twitch occurred at the side of his mouth at the comment, fighting the overwhelming sensation to smile. Jim possessed the ability to conjure up such preposterous statements that were illogical—amusing. He maneuvered from his position at the door and glided toward the desk, heart rate accelerating as he approached the blond man hunched over the board, fingers diligently arranging the pieces.

Jim released a small breath as he completed the setup, plopping down onto the chair behind him before glancing up to Spock, eyebrows hiking quizzically.

"You can have a seat." He stated, issuing a lopsided grin as Spock complied, descending fluidly onto the chair opposite of his, eyes ghosting over the board.

"Fascinating." He stated, fingers tracing over one of the tiny ebony items.

Jim's grin expanded, leaking into his eyes, the blue hues radiating with mirth causing Spock's breath to hitch at the sight. Observing the details of Jim's lips as he elaborated on the general standards, Spock's muscles constricted as he contemplated the texture of the extremity, bemused at the perplexing consideration.

"I don't think I need to inquire if you understand since you absorb information like a sponge." Jim chuckled, jarring him from his trance, "White or Black?"

"I hold no preference." Spock stated mildly, attempting to decrease the rate of his heart but to no avail.

"Alright, I'll take white. I prefer the advantage of the first move."

The reflexive twitch occurred at the corner of his mouth again, "From what I have observed of your offensive strategies, you commonly prefer such advantages."

He issued a non-committal shrug, "What can I say?" The tan fingers reached for the white pawn, fluently maneuvering it on the board, the metal clicking as he placed it onto the black square. "Now," clearing his throat, he graced Spock with a hard stare, "Why are you _really _here?"

Spock was taken aback. Apparently Jim's perceptive skills were as extraordinary as they were on duty. His cautionary tactics to divert Jim's unease had initially failed.

"I do not understand." Averting his gaze, he clasped onto the tiny piece, gliding it steadily across the board.

A disgruntled noise echoed in the enclosed space, "I've asked you to join me in a game of chess at least a dozen times and you'd always claim that it was _illogical _to indulge in frivolous social activities." Maneuvering another piece, he muttered, "So, what is it? Afraid I'm going to keel over at any moment, or I'm unable to take care of myself? I'm not an invalid."

Spock nodded curtly, "I harbor no doubts that you are capable of heeding your essential needs." Capturing one of Jim's pieces, he continued, "However, the doctor is merely concerned for your mental stability."

An aggravated grunt escaped his lips, eyes rolling in their sockets before instantaneously stilling, a curious expression contorting his features.

"Wait a minute." Eyes narrowing as an eyebrow hiked, the corner of his mouth ascending, "If that were the case, he'd be the one in here checking up on me." A sudden pressure occurred in Spock's chest at Jim's realization. "So, why are _you _here?"

Spock swallowed thickly, why had he come? Were his concerns for Jim that immense he reduced himself to participate in a tedious activity in order to subdue them? Could he not have ordered the doctor to inform him of Jim's status on a consistent basis?

Jim leaned forward, scrutinizing Spock with an amused stare, "You were _worried_ about me."

"Vulcans do not 'worry'." Spock retorted, gesturing towards the board to indicate it was Jim's turn.

A laugh leaked from Jim's lips, eliciting a trickle of shivers to run along Spock's spine at the sound.

"Right…and Bones is _never_ sarcastic." He jested, a hand compressing against his forehead, shaking his head incredulously as another soft laugh escaped him. "I should've guessed by your reaction earlier, but I didn't think you really _would _be." He beamed as he captured Spock's knight with his rook, "It's nice to know."

Spock's eyebrow arched at the comment, "I do not understand why you are pleased when I have not admitted to such an emotion."

Jim leaned back in his seat, arms folding in front of his chest and mirthfully stated, "You didn't have to."

The remainder of the game proceeded in silence until checkmate was declared by Spock, mouth twitching as Jim gawked disbelieving at the pieces as though they withheld the answers to his loss.

"I will retire to my quarters for the duration of the evening." Spock stated, ascending from the chair as he turned for the door.

"Hey, Spock."

He abruptly halted, glancing back towards the man who enthralled and bemused him greatly.

"Yes, Jim?"

Jim slid from his perch and meandered over to him, hand reaching out and gripped Spock's arm, applying a small amount of pressure as he smiled, "Thanks."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this took so long to be posted, I really take my time with this and I've had an incredibly busy week. Thank you for reading and please review.**


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N: So, not so "action-y" yet; however, if you've read my other Spirk fanfiction, I'm sure you've noticed that I absolutely love to write action. So do not fret dear readers, eventually there will be some. Also, some of you may wonder "how does Khan come to play in this?" Well, that will be revealed later down the road, thank you for continuing to follow this story!  
**

* * *

**The Needs of The One**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

* * *

"Dammit, why the hell did they make these things so damn inflexible? I can hardly breathe in this!" The doctor's hand tugged feverishly at the collar of the formal uniform as disgruntled grunts filtered through the space between his lips. His compelling desires to voice his opinions—regardless of their incredible lack of prudence—and the man's blatant disregard for those within earshot consistently baffled Spock. How he managed to elude any potential consequence for his outlandish comments was astounding. "And the fabric's so itchy it's like wearing a pine-cone! If it weren't for the fact the pointy-eared _bastards_ don't lie, I'd have ditched this damn thing already!"

"Doctor," Spock began even-toned, bristling slightly at the insult toward the hierarchy of his race, "it is standard protocol to wear formal attire whilst—"

"My point exactly." He hastily interjected, grumbling as he shifted weight between feet—neck craning side to side, straining the fabric in an attempt to ease his discomfort.

A soft chuckle floated in the space between Spock and the doctor, a hand gently pressed against Spock's back momentarily before falling away. He could almost feel—highly illogical—the heat of Jim's hand still lingering near his shoulder blade. The touch eliciting a tiny shiver to crawl along his spine as the man stepped from behind them, filling the gap with a captivating presence.

"Remember Bones, Vulcans don't _feel_ uncomfortable." Jim snickered as the doctor snorted disdainfully in agreement. Gripping at his own collar, tracing his tan fingers beneath the gold band, Jim muttered exasperatedly below his breath, "_Goddamn it_, the next time I'm around the Admiralty, I'm going to have some choice _words_ for—"

"Captain." The man froze, startling blue irises glancing up to meet Spock's quizzically, "On the contrary, I do not find the uniforms acceptable for basic mobility and acknowledge they may hinder us against an unanticipated assault. My abilities to perform simple tasks have depleted due to its design." His fingers twitched as he suppressed the urge to tug at his own stiff collar, instead deciding to stiffly fold his arms against the small of his back.

The corner of Jim's mouth ascended slightly, the blue orbs glimmering with amusement, "My mistake."

The reflexive twitch at the corner of Spock's mouth occurred again with the overwhelming urge to smile. Jim's eyes observed the sudden motion carefully, flickering brightly with an internal thought that provoked the small grin to expand.

The doctor leaned forward from his position next to Jim until he was within direct line of sight of Spock, scrutinizing him with an incredulous stare, "My God," He breathed, "I think he's coming around, Jim. There _may_ be hope yet!" He stated with a smirk, glimpsing toward Jim whose eyes had remained fixated on Spock—abruptly breaking contact with a rapid blink as his head whipped around to face the doctor, the smile never faltering.

"If you are insinuating that I have admitted to feeling 'uncomfortable', you are mistaken, Doctor. I merely agreed with the flagrant flaws associated with the uniforms' design that you have repeatedly pointed out over the course of the last twenty minutes and fifty-four seconds. I did not desire for the Captain to presume that the one I possessed held a significant difference."

The doctor's lips gaped slightly before the predictable eye roll occurred.

"Yeah, in a pig's eye." He grumbled, arms struggling with the fabric as he attempted to fold them over his chest in frustration—eyebrows furrowing.

Spock's eyebrow arched curiously at the statement, "I do not understand the reference between the functionality of standard formal uniforms and livestock extremities?"

An aggravated snort pierced the air.

"_Five years_, Jim." McCoy stated irritably, ignoring Spock's inquiry as he glanced sideways at the blond man with burning animosity, gritting his teeth, "You just _had _to drag me along and isolate me with _him_ for _five years_, didn't you?" A flustered huff escaped him as hazel eyes rolled toward the ceiling, "And it's only just begun, God help me!"

Jim released another amused chuckle, issuing another small tug at his collar before mirroring Spock—hands clasping stiffly at the small of his back. The diminutive tremble still vibrated his form, his ashen complexion contrasted starkly against the gold material. It was evident Jim was attempting to hide his discomfort—an aura of forced nonchalance circulating the air around him. Although his ability to divert the doctor's attention away from his wellbeing by casually indulging in the tedious discussion of the man's discomforts was succeeding, Spock however was unconvinced by his pretenses.

"Well, Bones just think of it this way—three days down and only…" He trailed off, eyes rolling toward the ceiling, lips moving silently as he pondered, "One-thousand-eight-hundred and twenty-two left." Jim beamed as the man released an irritated grunt.

"Smart ass."

Jim replied with a soft laugh.

An exasperated sigh escaped the doctor's lips as he inquired impatiently, "What's taking them so damn long? Shouldn't they be here by now?"

The blond man shook his head, catching himself quickly as he listed heavily sideways, nearly losing his balance, "There was a last minute meeting the Ambassadors were required to attend, so their running late." Jim huffed, features tinting a pale shade of red as he scrutinized the empty landing pad for the shuttle in front of them warily, "I just received communication before I joined you stating they would arrive momentarily."

"Figures. They're quick to quote rules and regulations but are late for their own damn transport."

Blue irises fleetingly glanced toward Spock before returning to their frontward position, "Give them a break Bones. Since Nero, their society has been rendered chaotic." A beat, "Well, as chaotic as it possibly _can_ be." Jim amended, avoiding eye contact with Spock, shifting uncomfortably beside him.

It was peculiar how Jim was tentative around the subject, especially while in the presence of Spock. Although the man had made several short remarks and took pleasure by ridiculing his Vulcan nature in the past, he was uncharacteristically sensitive about the destruction of _Vulcan_ and its habitants. Careful to avoid the conversation of the specific day , and even so much as fleeing from Spock when the topic arose. Was it possible he harbored regrets for the comments he barked inches from Spock's face to render him emotionally compromised?

He duly noted the need to rectify this unsettling rift at the next available interval between their shifts.

Spock's jaw unhinged, about to address Jim when the shuttle carting both Ambassadors zoomed overhead. Hastily composing himself, he watched warily as the shuttle flipped around, landing softly onto the pad with a blaring hiss. Instinctively, his spine straightened, head rising in anticipation as the doors slid open, heart rate increasing slightly at the first sight of Sarek—an impulsive response due to the countless years of animosity he had received after defying his father's desires for his son to attend the Vulcan Science Academy.

Sarek's fingers steeple as he stepped fluently from the craft, gracing the three of them with a hardened gaze. A second elder Vulcan pursued him—Spock's muscles clenched as he recognized the discerning features. Agitated that his elder counterpart had now intentionally breached the prime directive, and bristling as the Vulcan's eyes softened at the sight of Jim—radiating pure affection and longing. An overwhelming possessiveness flooded over Spock—the illogical desire to pull Jim from his counterpart's vision dizzied him momentarily.

Jim did not belong to his elder counterpart.

Jim did not belong to anyone.

"Ambassador Sarek." Jim greeted with a polite smile before turning his attention toward the elder counterpart, Spock's breath hitched as Jim's smile expanded, features softening at his approach, "And Ambassador, welcome aboard."

"Thank you, Captain." Sarek spoke evenly. "My apologies for my rudeness, but I request to be promptly escorted to my designated quarters."

Jim jerked slightly as he was addressed, snapping the conspicuous connection with the elder counterpart hastily, coloring slightly from embarrassment.

"O-of course." He stuttered, clearing his throat, "Mr. Spock, would you be inclined to escort Ambassador Sarek to his quarters?" Eyebrows rising expectantly toward him, Spock quickly deciphered the inclination of Jim's preference for privacy—desiring to converse with his elder counterpart alone—possibly due to the exaggerated truth he had perceived on _Delta Vega _in the event of their paths crossing.

However, he felt disconcerted—illogical as he could not find the counterpart's presence detrimental to Jim's health.

"Mr. Spock?" Jim pressed, issuing a withering glance.

"My apologies, I was inadvertently preoccupied." He stated, noticing the small gleam of amusement within the soft brown tones of his counterpart's eyes. "And of course, Captain, I shall—Ambassador, if you would follow me?"

His father nodded in acknowledgement. Pivoting, he strode from the walk, his father ensuing at a steady pace. As they maneuvered their way from the landing pad, his advanced hearing honed in on the concerned inquiry of his counterpart behind them—an unidentified emotion underlining his tone.

"Captain, are you well?"

* * *

Eavesdropping was a Human trait—succumbing to impulsive urges to acquire information that was solely meant for self-gain was clearly within their social parameters.

Spock would never subject himself to the very notion—he was above such petty desires.

He had returned to his quarters after another successful conclusion to his shift. And requiring rest, it was merely a coincidence that the time of Jim and his elder counterpart's arrival to the captain's private quarters happened to correspond with Spock's arrival into his own. And it was by mere coincidence that their quarters were divided by a single washroom and his hearing was keener than the average Human's.

So, by technical standards, he was not "eavesdropping".

Sliding into the chair at the desk, he diligently worked through the required paperwork on his computer, logging his own entries, and signing documents to be sent back to Starfleet headquarters. With the silence in the enclosed space, the muffled voices from his resident next door filtered through with great clarity. Jim's distinctive voice was vastly known to carry through a room, and in this case, walls.

"So you see," A soft sigh, "I…just…I just came back from death, how am I able to allow anyone to worry that I might not be able to escape it this time?"

A small pause.

"Other than Doctor McCoy, have others been informed of your condition?"

"Spock knows…but I wish I hadn't told him."

Spock's fist instantly clenched, a trickle of anger flaring through him momentarily.

"Why is that?" The elder inquired gently.

Heart thudding at his side, he anxiously waited for Jim's reply.

"I don't want to see him suffer, see him in pain. He's been through so much already between the destruction of _Vulcan_, the death of his mother, and…and…"

"And bearing witness to your demise." The elder counterpart completed dolefully.

Jim whispered, "Yes."

"I see." A beat, "He is fortunate to have gained such a selfless friend. To have you care greatly for his wellbeing."

Spock stilled. Jim was fretting over Spock's state versus concentrating on his own wellbeing?

Jim _cared_ for him above himself? Surely he knew Jim possessed a certain selfless quality once he had sacrificed his life to save the _Enterprise_ as it plummeted from the stars; however, he had long since reminisced about the event of Jim saving his life while he was trapped within the active volcano on _Nibiru._ The action had cost Jim his commanding position, yet, he harbored no regrets for the event—merely wishing to insure the underlining reason behind it.

Another soft sigh, "Spock…did you…I mean, were you _close _to the Jim Kirk in your time? I know you told me that you'll always be my friend…but…"

"The knowledge you desire, I cannot give to you, Jim." He stated hastily, nearly desperately.

An incredulous snort emitted through the wall, "Yeah that sounds familiar. If I recall, you were the one who told me I had to gain the _Enterprise_ from Spock and only gave me a vague description on how to do it."

A small pause, "Yet, you were successful, were you not?"

Jim released a bitter laugh, "Sure, after I got my ass handed to me."

"It is fortunate that you were not severely harmed. However, I do not desire to steer you in a certain direction, Jim. Your path is yours and you must ascertain certain conclusions on your own."

Silence filtered and lingered as minutes passed. Spock nearly assumed the conversation had concluded until the faint voice of Jim whispered through the air.

"You…loved your Jim Kirk, didn't you?"

An audible breath was released, the Vulcan equivalent of a Terran sigh.

Jim had made a conclusion.

Suddenly, Spock strongly desired not to hear the response. Ascending quickly from the chair, he hustled from his quarters into the corridor. The cool air of the ship contrasted with the warmth of the room and it elicited a shiver to dance along his flesh as he adjusted to the acute temperature change. Leaning heavily against the door as it hissed closed, his mind reeled over the confounding conversation.

Why had Jim inquired about his counterpart's relationship with his own James Kirk? Had there been and underlining query he had missed? Or was it simply Jim prying as he was well-known to do?

Time eluded him, jerking slightly, startled as the door to the captain's quarters hissed open, his counterpart glided from the threshold before abruptly halting at the sight of Spock. His demeanor quickly melted from ease to apprehension as he strolled down the corridor toward him. Spock was unsure of his counterpart, failing to decipher whether he was trustworthy-words merited, or whether he was capable of being deceptive—especially around Jim.

"You are troubled?"

Spock removed himself from the door stiffly, scrutinizing him with suspicion.

"I have deduced you have already reached a conclusion of the subject I am concerned for, have you not?" Spock stated with a tiny amount of vehemence to his tone.

The elder counterpart tilted his head, eyes downcast as he nodded curtly—releasing another audible breath.

"I surmised you were listening."

"Vulcans do not eavesdrop." Spock retorted.

A twitch occurred at the corner of the elder's mouth, "Nevertheless, you overheard, correct?"

Spock remained silent, eyes ghosting over the wrinkled and deteriorating form before him.

The elder continued, "I am unaware of your current situation with the young Captain. However, are you amenable for advice?"

Spock inclined his head, debating momentarily, "I may."

The soft eyes connected with his, captivating him with their intense gaze, "Remember what I have stated to you upon our first encounter, there is a depth you must decipher on your own. Recall my words."

Spock's eyebrow arched at the vague comment, trailing the elder's movements as he quietly strolled down the corridor toward the turbolift. After his counterpart had vanished, he pivoted and traipsed down the corridor, halting before Jim's door. The elder had exited without the presence of the charismatic blond hovering at his backside—uncharacteristic for Jim's nature.

Diligently keying in the override code, he swiftly entered the quarters, noting the lights had properly been dimmed. Gliding through the living quarters, he cautiously approached the bedroom; soft even breaths greeted him as he padded over to the edge of the bed. The blond man was splayed over the mattress, an arm hanging at an obscene angle over the edge, waist twisted with a leg propped against it while the other extended. The position appeared to be anything but comfortable. However, Spock was quite relieved to see Jim had drifted off to sleep as he acknowledged the man had wrestled with rest for several nights.

Lightly grasping the protruding arm, he gently laid it onto the mattress before gripping the sheets at the foot of the bed, draping it over the slumbering form. Jim stirred slightly, tongue darting out to lick along his pale lips before retreating back inside, allow his lips to separate, releasing a elongated breath. His features were absent of worry or pain—serene as though he were but a child. Spock studied him, absorbing the scene before him.

It was strange to see his captain so vulnerable.

Besides the vulnerability he had previously witnessed in the decompression chamber, this state appeared to be more…pleasing. His hand reached out impulsively, fingers brushing away a stray strand of hair from the man's face. The strand tickled against his flesh, astonished to find the texture soft instead of coarse as he presumed.

Why had he felt inclined to enter the man's room uninvited to ascertain his status? Why did he desire to protect him, even against his own counterpart?

"_I don't want to see him suffer, see him in pain."_

"_You…loved your Jim Kirk, didn't you?"_

"_I want you to know why I came back for you, why I couldn't let you die."_

"_Recall my words."_

Spock whispered as his fingers slipped away from Jim's face, pads of his fingers brushing against the cool skin of his brow, "Sleep well, Jim."

* * *

**A/N: thank you for your patience, and for reading. Please review!**


	5. Chapter Five

**The Needs of The One**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

* * *

A white sheet draped elegantly over a solid form atop the metal pallet. Light bathed the stark material from the low hanging lamp, casting the grey walls of the cramped room into shadow. The pallet was stationed precisely in the center, the only object occupying the barren space. The fabric caressed over the features, outlining the angle of the forehead, the distinguishable nose, the chiseled chin. Although he had not received a glimpse of the figure that lied beneath the ghostly tarp, knowledge rapidly flooded from his subconscious—acknowledging the identity instantaneously.

Jim.

The invisible knot coiled itself within his core, a hard lump forming and lodging at the base of his throat. This was impossible. Illogical as he had recently witnessed the man slumbering peacefully inside his quarters. The only logical explanation could be the result of an unanticipated hallucination—a reaction to a stimulant he possibly consumed prior to the encounter of this precarious illusion producing before him.

Jim could _not_ be deceased.

Yet, as his hand hesitantly extended, he was rendered aghast as the pads of his fingers traced along the soft material. His side clenched, heart rate increasing exponentially, a large amount of pressure compressed his chest.

"No." The word slipped gently from the crevice between his lips.

Reflexively, his fingers curled around the edge of the sheet, allowing the fabric to slip slightly, revealing the discernible front peak of the sandy blond hair. The man didn't stir beneath, chest absent of the rhythmic rise and fall of regulated breaths. A tiny tremor ran through his hand, clutching the sheet in his fist, he tentatively slid the remainder of cloth from his face—displaying Jim's ashen, blue-lipped, eerily serene features.

Spock's vision suddenly blurred, breath hitching as he jerked his hand free of the sheet, maneuvering it to hover incredulously over the face he had steadily become accustomed to.

"Jim." His voice strained, the solid lump hindering his capability to speak.

Fingers gingerly rested against Jim's cheek, the flesh icy and rigid beneath them. A moment passed as he sluggishly registered the sob that escaped him, the familiar ghost of emotion overwhelming him as it had previously outside the solid shield of glass at the warp core.

He had failed to protect his Captain.

He had failed to sustain his friend's wellbeing.

He had failed to recognize…

A sinister chuckled erupted through the enclosed space, jarring him from his thoughts. Whipping around to locate the origin, a pale figure emerged from the shadows—a devilish smile plastered on his features. Dark eyes staring deviously as he stepped nonchalantly toward Spock.

"_YOU!"_ Spock bellowed, hands clenching into tight fists. "_You _are responsible!"

Khan ticked his head to the side, "Ah, yes, you are indeed a clever one, Mr. Spock."

Spock's vision hazed red, anger flooding through him as he lunged, sight narrowing on the man, targeting his skull. He swung his fist just as the smile morphed into a grin.

"I hold the answers you seek."

Spock jerked awake—panting heavily, he bolted up from the mattress, disoriented. Sliding from the bed, he hastily inspected the room, concluding that he was indeed alone. Heart rate still accelerated, his thoughts quickly refocused on Jim. Without a second thought to his appearance, he bolted from his quarters into the corridor only to come to abrupt halt as he nearly crashed into the very man he was initially about to seek out.

Jim jerked in alarm, arms reflexively extending, hands gripping a hold of Spock's arms to prevent the inevitable collision.

"Whoa! Spock!" Jim cried, struggling to maintain his bearings.

Spock promptly straightened, calming instantly at the sight of Jim—reveling in the reassuring physical contact of the man he had momentarily presumed dead—a most illogical response.

Stunned, Jim tightened his grip as he inquired nervously, "Are you all right?"

Spock blinked slowly as though Jim would unexpectedly vanish from the motion. His ragged breathing ceased, the lump dissipating as he tentatively stated, "Yes, I am well."

Jim pinned him with an incredulously stare.

"Spock…you honestly think I'm going to believe that? You just shot out of your quarters like a bat out of hell, you're still wearing your sleep robes, and you look incredibly distressed." As Spock opened his mouth to retort, Jim quickly added, "I know, Vulcans do not _feel _distress. And the whole bat thing is just another Terran idiom." He stated blandly, "Mind telling me what just happened?"

Spock's eyes ghosted over Jim's form, analyzing his features closely. He still appeared ill, but did not display any signs of a lingering demise.

"Ji-Captain, are you well?"

Jim blinked, taken aback slightly, "Uh, yeah, I guess so. What's going on, Spock?" His pressed gently, concern stirring within the cool blue depths of his eyes.

Spock shook his head, "It is of no consequence. My apologies for alarming you—I will promptly tend to this matter prior to my next scheduled shift."

The blue irises glanced warily over his features, hands sliding reluctantly from their position at his arms. "Alright…just…" he trailed off, eyebrow ascending slightly with confusion, "Promise me you'll inform me later? We could discuss it over a chess game?"

"I assure you, the matter is insignificant and—"

"Spock." His breath hitched as Jim breathed his name softly, "C'mon, just meet me at my quarters after Alpha shift, alright?"

The image of Jim's corpse fleeted through his conscious, the sensation of his cold flesh beneath his fingers caused an illogical tingle in his hands. Spock quickly acknowledged he would not be able to avoid the topic for long. Jim was relentless when he decided to be—his curiosity would undoubtedly cause the man to pursue the issue, pestering him with an uncanny stubbornness until the irritable behavior would elicit a response.

Jim grinned, patting his arm feebly, "You can't argue that you think it's illogical anymore. That ship sailed the other night."

"Captain, the _Enterprise _departed space-dock approximately—"

A soft chuckle interrupted him, "And people say you don't have a sense of humor." Patting his arm a second time, he chided gently, "Like Bones always says, if I don't see you at my quarters tonight, I'll personally be making a house call."

Spock's jaw unhinged to once again retort but the blond man waved him off, pivoting on his heel before sauntering down the corridor. Spock scrutinized his broad back curiously. Without seemingly much effort, the man could steer him into a decision without Spock's initial consent.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile.

Perhaps the tedious activity would prove to be beneficial.

* * *

"_I'm scared Spock, help me not be."_

"_I want you to know why I came back for you, why I couldn't let you die."_

"_I hold the answers you seek."_

The chime erupted through the quiet space and Spock again flooded back into his solid body. A small pang of irritation flared over him as once again he was interrupted during meditation. He desired to delve into the implications of the dream—as he had not dreamed since the death of his mother. Vulcans did not experience such occurrences; however, as he was half Human, he acknowledged he was still susceptible regardless of the extraordinary mental shields.

And this particular vision unsettled him immensely.

Releasing an audible breath, he fluently rose from the mat and glided toward the door, releasing it to reveal the person he least expected.

"Nyota?"

"Hey." Her voice was soft as she inquired meekly, "May I come in?"

"Nyota, you have disrupted my meditation session. Is this matter of critical importance?"

Shaking her head slightly, she muttered with a bitter smile, "Some things just don't change." Sighing, she continued, "It's about Kirk."

His eyebrow arched curiously. Assuming she would require the appropriate time to heal before she felt comfortable to converse with him—especially when Jim was the main subject—he did not expect her presence willingly. Countless times she had stated her distrust and irritants with the man, with only the exception of his untimely demise. Their arguments would mostly consist of Jim, and she would strangely state her observations of his constant glances toward him.

"You may enter."

"Thank you." She nodded, brushing past him into the dim room.

"Lights—eighty percent." Spock demanded, and blinked once as the living quarters brightened. She meandered inside before rotating, pinning him with a hard stare.

"What's going on with him?"

Spock ticked his head to the side, "I do not understand your meaning."

"I mean, he looks like hell and he won't say anything to anyone. I tried to get it out of McCoy, but the man is tight-lipped—except when he's being snarky." Her arms folded over her chest, "I know you know." She accused.

"My apologies as I am unaware of his condition as well."

"That's a lie."

"Vulcans cannot lie."

She released a flustered sound, shifting her weight absentmindedly between feet. Averting her gaze, she fixated on a particular spot on the wall, the muscles in her throat contracting as she swallowed.

"Is it because he's sick that you felt obligated to leave? Just like how you didn't leave his bedside for a moment when he was brought back from death?"

Humans were notorious to seek answers when they were wounded. He acknowledged the possibility of the unexpected intrusion was to ease her distress, obtain a sense of closure. Spock could not deny her of that.

"No." He stated firmly.

The dark orbs hastily reconnected with him, "We both know it's him, so why haven't you done anything about it?"

"Nyota." The words died on his tongue as the reason eluded him.

Features softening, her arms fell away from her chest, coming to rest limply at the curve of her waist, "Oh, Spock." She breathed, approaching him tentatively, "I don't think I've ever seen you so confused…so vulnerable."

He blinked slowly, an eyebrow arching in confusion.

Shaking her head, a small smile played upon her lips as her hand gingerly cupped against the flesh of his cheek.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure this out, Spock. There's no need to overanalyze. I saw it long before I could identify it, even if I don't want to admit it." Soft lips pressed against his exposed cheek tenderly. "I just want to see you happy, and…I just want to make sure that you left for the right reasons." She said gently as she pulled away from him.

His mouth gaped as he prepared to respond, but she quickly cut him off, "You don't have to say anything, I understand now. I guess I just needed to really see it." The unsettling glossy sheen coated her eyes once more, "Knowing how Kirk is though, I suggest you don't wait too long." She chuckled earnestly. "Although, I'm sure it won't take much convincing, it's obvious he's enamored by you."

"Nyota."

"Well, I should be off." Hastily brushing passed him, she paused at the door, "Oh and as soon as you know what's going on with the Captain's health, I want to know about it—got it? We're all worried about him."

Winking, she exited his quarters as he trailed uncertainly behind her, abruptly halting to stare as she traipsed down the corridor just as Jim departed from the turbolift. His eyes trailed her movements momentarily before glancing up toward Spock, a pained expression fleeting across his features before hastily receding—a peculiar response. Ducking his head, he approached Spock warily, eyes softened with an emotion he could not decipher.

"Spock." He nodded, passing him as he marched for his quarters.

Spock hesitated before pursuing him, striding up beside him, "Captain, have I angered you?"

Jim shook his head, "No, Spock, you haven't." He sighed, "It's nothing, don't worry about it." They halted outside Jim's quarters, his eyes fixated on the door, avoiding Spock's gaze, "You might want to change, Spock. I don't think you'd want to play chess wearing that." The blue pools ghosted over his meditation robes briefly, then returned to their frontward position, keying in the access code.

"Indeed." Spock replied, allowing Jim to flee into his quarters without protest.

As he returned to his quarters, he pondered how Jim's demeanor had suddenly shifted as though he were a wounded animal attempting to escape. As Spock hurriedly dressed into his black fatigues and extinguished the candles, he analyzed Jim's abrupt mood alteration. It appeared Jim had been hurt at the sight of Nyota departing his quarters—possibly presuming their intimate relationship had been rectified. Although, even if he had presumed such a possibility, why had he responded morosely?

"_Although, I'm sure it won't take much convincing, it's obvious he's enamored by you."_

Did Nyota's comment hold merit? Could she be certain of such precarious assumptions?

"Enter." Jim's muffled voice called through the door after he had pressed the chime.

Spock's heart rate accelerated as he walked through the threshold, the scent of sandalwood flooded his senses as he observed Jim sitting at the desk, arms folded behind his head, leaning heavily against the wall, eyes focused on a distant focal point. The chessboard had been properly set with the black pieces positioned at the empty seat.

Jim appeared contemplative, seeming not to register Spock's approach.

"Captain—"

"Jim—Spock, I'm off duty." He stated flatly.

"Very well. Jim, I believe I should elaborate on Miss Uhura's presence at my quarters this evening—"

"You don't need to, Spock." He tilted his head, blue irises glancing up at him, "Really, it's your business."

"On the contrary, you appear distressed by her appearance and I need to remedy this matter." Spock swiftly descended onto his designated chair, "It was an unanticipated visit in regards to you."

"_Me_?" He inquired incredulously, "Don't tell me, she finally fell for my irresistible charm?" A small grin expanded upon his features.

A strange pang struck Spock at the presumptuous comment, "Although you are aesthetically pleasing, her concerns were mainly concentrated on your wellbeing." He paused; an illogical sinking sensation overwhelming him as he inquired tentatively, "Are you implying you are interested in pursuing an intimate relationship with the Lieutenant?"

"What? No, no I'm not." He chuckled, waving his hand dismissively, the tension seemingly melting from his frame, "I was teasing, plus I wouldn't do that to you." A beat, "Wait…did you just say…? No, wait, never mind." Shaking his head, he continued, "Well, I'm not surprised she did, everyone's been on edge since Khan."

"Indeed?"

"Yeah, feels like I have eyes on the back of my head at all times." He sighed heavily, pushing away from the wall, the previous melancholy demeanor receding, "Anyway, mind if I play white again?"

"I do not 'mind'."

"Great." The corner of his mouth twitched as his tan fingers gripped the tiny piece, sliding it along the board. Spock observed the muscles flex underneath the skin, admiring the structure of his knuckles and fingers. He could not deny—besides the startling blue hues of his eyes—that his hands were one of his most alluring features. An overwhelming desire to reach out and touch them overcame him, his hand twitched as he suppressed it. "So, do you want to talk about earlier?"

The inquiry jarred him, eyes quickly darting to Jim's face.

"The matter is of no significance." He replied evenly.

"Spock." Jim pressed, eyebrows rising expectantly. "I think I know you better than that by now."

As he deduced, Jim had decided to be relentless toward the issue.

Releasing an audible breath, he maneuvered the fragile ebony piece as he replied, "I experienced a perturbing occurrence—as you might refer to as a 'nightmare'."

"Huh, I was under the impression Vulcans didn't dream." Jim proclaimed casually as he captured a pawn.

"You are correct to assume so." Positioning his knight, he quickly contemplated his following moves, "As I am merely half Vulcan, I am still capable of succumbing to certain Human impairments."

Jim stilled, fingers hovering over his desired piece, "I see...and what did the nightmare pertain to?"

Spock straightened, scrutinizing Jim with a somber stare. A silence blanketed the room; the soft raspy breaths of Jim filtered the surrounding air. The deep recesses of Jim's eyes bore heavily into his as he anticipated a response.

"Jim…" He trailed off, uncertain if it were appropriate to inform him.

Shaking his head, he replied dolefully, "You don't have to tell me, Spock. I understand that you feel uncomfortable confiding these types of things in me."

"No." Impulsively, his hand reached out, grasping a hold of Jim's wrist as he began to retract it from the board, blue eyes widening marginally with surprise, "That is not the reason. I do not harbor any mistrust in your character."

"Oh?" Jim whispered, eyes fixating on Spock's hand as though it were an anomaly, "Then what is it?"

Spock paused, "The dream pertained to you."

Jim's breath hitched at his admission, body instantly stilling. After several moments of silence, Jim's jaw unhinged to reply but was quickly interrupted by the familiar chirping of an incoming transmission. Spock relinquished his wrist, noting the faint flush of the man's features as he fumbled to retrieve the communicator from his pocket before flipping it open.

"Kirk here." He stated, voice cracking slightly.

"_Captain, you're needed on the bridge."_

"Elaborate, Lieutenant."

"_Klingons, sir."_

Jim froze.

"Raise shields, I'm on my way." Flipping the device closed, he promptly inquired, "Will you accompany me to the bridge? I'm going to need your assistance."

"Of course, Captain."

Jim nodded curtly. Ascending from his chair, he scurried to the door before abruptly halting, rotating to face Spock who was trailing behind him. Spock abruptly halted, eyes ghosting over Jim's features curiously.

"Are you all right, Captain?"

"I…" The flush deepened several shades as he shook his head vigorously, "Never mind, let's go."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading and please review!**


	6. Chapter Six

**A/N: Thank you for 100+ followers! So I basically planned (sort of) to have this story dart between Spock and Kirk's POVs. And I got so wrapped up in writing Spock's bit that I decided to neglect Kirk's for a while. I now feel it is time to delve into Kirk's mind a little (don't worry; I will go back to Spock again soon). Enjoy!**

* * *

**The Needs of The One**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

* * *

Spock was acting—well, he was acting like Spock but something was definitely off.

It wasn't uncommon for the Vulcan to analyze his appearance, placing him under the figurative microscope like he was an intriguing new specimen that required deliberation before proceeding with any form of interaction. And lately, Jim did not fail to notice how this particular obsession over his wellbeing had increased exponentially after returning to consciousness, almost feeling uncomfortable as the Vulcan hovered—treating him as though he were a frail piece of glass that would break the moment he was dropped. He diligently established his own methods to consistently fuss over him—nearly surpassing Bones' overbearing commission of medical procurements—which in the end said quite a bit.

If it wasn't Spock playing the mother hen, it was Bones. And frankly, it was becoming downright irritating. What was he, an unstable medical experiment that could initially cause him to morph into his own version of Mr. Hyde at any given moment?

Well…he was sort of a medical experiment—the first to be reanimated from death using super-human blood, but that was beside the point. He didn't appreciate feeling incredibly exposed and scrutinized.

He was still Jim, dammit, he hadn't _changed_.

Still, he wasn't certain of the reason why he confessed his illness to Spock, and why he felt compelled to as though it were an act of betrayal if he hadn't. Although the Vulcan was his First Officer and friend—he couldn't comprehend the gnawing desire to enlighten him to his condition. It felt as though he were baiting the waters in a devious attempt to catch a bite—a reaction—since the Vulcan had previously displayed emotion. And If it weren't for the fact he had been consumed by his own emotional state as his body burned inside the decontamination chamber, he would've probably appreciated the sentiment a tad more—delve further into the introspects of Spock's mind at that precise moment.

Why did the Vulcan cry?

His mind wandered as he reminisced on that day.

_There was conspicuous desperation in the Vulcan's body language as pale hands compressed against the transparent surface—as though the action would dissolve the inch of glass that separated them. Noticing through bleary vision how those hands trembled, desiring to reach out to touch him, ease his pain as he struggled to maneuver toward the door. The emotion that washed over the usual stoic composure was so raw that the sight of it hitched his breath, a pressure building steadily in his chest. _

"_How do you choose not to feel?"_

"_I do not know…right now I'm failing."_

_Spock had never expressed such despondency—at least not in this fashion. _

_Jim hadn't witness a tear shed after the demise of his mother and his home world. Yet, there he was shedding tears for him as though they had never engaged in a dispute, that not a year ago he had attempted to expel him, maroon him, and strangle him into submission at the helmsman's station on the bridge. _

"_Because you are my friend."_

_He couldn't pinpoint when their mutual grievances morphed into an ambiguous friendship, but something peculiar occurred as he observed the dark depths of the man's eyes as they glossed over, a single droplet escaping and sliding leisurely down the pale flesh of his cheek—bereaved as Jim began to slip away. _

_Placing his hand upon the glass, he could almost feel the warmth of the Vulcan's hand that mirrored his. He could feel there was…something deeper—an undecipherable connection._

_He only recalled those stricken, solemn eyes and the small twitch of the Vulcan's lips, returning the small smile Jim had on his own lips as the world darkened. _

_A silent understanding..._

Flooding back from the memory, standing uncertainly at his desk with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, he couldn't help but regard the tender brown eyes that gazed inquisitively at him. The elder's demeanor was placid—patiently waiting for Jim to continue their conversation. It was almost unsettling to be looked upon with such unconditional admiration, the weight of the eyes pierced him and he suppressed the urge to turn away.

His mind reeled over the elder Vulcan's vague implications. Was it possible that in the duration of his time with his own James Kirk, they had indulged in depths that Jim could not fathom? Was it also a possibility at that precise moment when he was on the verge of death, they had inadvertently discovered a link that had been severed with the occurrence of Nero and the elder Vulcan? Was there such a thing as…fate?

"You…loved your Jim Kirk, didn't you?" The words spilled out before he could process them, cringing at his own callousness. The Vulcan had clearly stated his refusal to divulge any information regarding their relationship, yet he couldn't fight the intense desire to comprehend if this situation was at all possible or all in his head.

The eyes softened as they downcast, pale hands entwining together as he released an audible breath. A palpable silence filtered through the space between them and Jim shifted uncomfortably, heart rate accelerating with anticipation.

"I must confess that I did; however, I will not elaborate, at least not at this moment as I do not wish to sway you. You are James Kirk, and yet you are not. Your decisions are your own, to compare you would be…unjust." The dark eyes flickered upward, reconnecting with him, a staggering undecipherable emotion bearing down upon him as they stared distantly—as though they no longer saw him or at least didn't see this form of him. "Although, I am most curious as to the reason you insisted on addressing the matter?"

Jim stilled, fidgeting absentmindedly with the hem of the gold tunic, "I…just wanted to know." _Yeah, that just basically gave it all away._ A glint appeared within the dark depths, a flicker that Jim could only assume was mild amusement as he had witnessed the similar reaction with his own Spock. "Have I said something funny?"

A slight twitch occurred at the side of the elder's mouth, "No, dear one, you have not." A shiver crawled along Jim's spine at the tone. He wasn't ignorant to the nickname, having been called it several times during their weekly chats, but it was only at this instant did he feel a surge of unspoken longing encasing the endearment. It was uncomfortably pleasant. "You are more impudent than I anticipated and possess the capability to—as you phrase—'throw me through a loop' with your blunt inquiries on several occasions."

Jim issued a non-committal shrug, "Well, you told me to draw my own conclusions, so I did."

"Indeed."

"Spock…" He trailed off as the Vulcan's head ticked to the side, an eyebrow arching in curiosity, "I..." Unexpectedly, a heat flared over him, his energy level plunged as his vision went vertigo.

He took a small step before careening forward as his legs gave way. Two strong hands gripped his arms, supporting his weight as his forehead collided with the soft fabric of the Vulcan's robes. His body trembled violently, panting as he fought through the nausea burning up his throat.

"Jim." The soft voice murmured in the shell of his ear, "_T'hy'la_, are you well?"

Jim nodded feebly, voice quivering slightly as he inquired, "Y-yeah…what…what did you just call me?"

The Vulcan stiffened, "You require rest, allow me to aid you to bed."

"I'm fine." Jim protested meekly as the Vulcan snaked an arm around his waist, half dragging him toward his sleeping quarters.

As he was gently deposited onto the mattress, his hand shot out and gripped a handful of the dark robes, firmly restraining the Vulcan.

"Jim?"

"What did you call me?" He grounded out, eyelids drooping as he fought against the pull of his body as it demanded rest.

"It is of no consequence."

"Bullshit."

A hand brushed against his brow, the pads of the warm fingers elicited a subtle buzz that tingled along his skin. His eyes grew heavier at the contact, straining to stay conscious as he began to drift. The hand gripping the robes steadily weakened, relinquishing the cloth.

"Rest now my old friend—dear one. I will remain at your side until you have attained a peaceful slumber."

"Don't think for a minute I'm going to let this go." Jim mumbled as the heavy eyelids slid shut.

"I did not doubt that you would."

Jim issued a small smirk as he slurred, "Sly old man."

The Vulcan replied with an amused ring to his tone, "Indeed?"

"Yeah."

The fingers brushed over his brow once more before he was tugged gently into the peaceful darkness.

* * *

"You don't have to tell me, Spock. I understand you feel uncomfortable confiding these types of things in me."

"No." Jim couldn't stop the perturbing thoughts of Spock's reaction earlier that morning, the alarming way he stormed out of his quarters—disheveled with an expression of pure panic plastered on his face. Of course he would promptly deny it as he had when Jim attempted to press him for an explanation. But shock did not describe how he felt as the Vulcan's hand curled around the cuff of his sleeve, gripping his wrist with a comfortable pressure. "That is not the reason. I do not harbor any mistrust in your character."

"Oh?" Jim fixated on the pale hand, acknowledging astoundingly that Spock had touched him willingly, "Then what is it?"

A pregnant silence draped over them for a moment before the Vulcan replied.

"The dream pertained to you."

Jim's breath hitched—body rigid. His mind reeled with the admission. Did Spock just confess he dreamt about him? And from the reaction he perceived as he bolted from his quarters determined that he was extremely worried.

No, it couldn't be, he was reading too much into it.

Or was he?

A small flicker passed over the impassive eyes as they bore into his, the pale hand remained latched onto his wrist. What was he attempting to communicate? The eyes softened slightly and it nearly reminded him of the expression the Vulcan had after he had regained consciousness in the medical facility after Khan. The look of...

His mouth unhinged, prepared to inquire about the dream when a sudden chirping pierced the air.

_Dammit!_

The pale hand relinquished his wrist, retracting it as Jim fumbled for the communicator in his pocket. The weight of the gaze elicited an urge to squirm, heat creeping into his face as he flipped the device open roughly—frustrated.

"Kirk here." He silently cursed himself as his voice cracked.

"_Captain, you're needed on the bridge."_ Uhura's voice floated over the speaker.

He suppressed the aggravated sigh as he stated, "Elaborate, Lieutenant."

"_Klingons, sir."_

He froze. What were Klingons doing in this sector of Federation space?

"Raise shields, I'm on my way." Flipping the device closed, he returned his attention to his silent First Officer. Although the Vulcan wasn't scheduled for duty until the following morning, he couldn't resist inquiring, "Will you accompany me to the bridge? I'm going to need your assistance."

"Of course, Captain."

Jim nodded in acknowledgement, ascending from his chair, hearing the swish of cloth as Spock maneuvered to accompany him. He halted abruptly at the door, pivoting on his heel to face his First Officer who had stopped as well, scrutinizing him with a curious stare.

"Are you all right, Captain?" He inquired evenly.

"I…" _I want to ask you if you felt the same as I did that day, if you…_ The heat in his face intensified as he shook his head vigorously as though to clear the thought, "Never mind, let's go."

They rushed from the room, bolting down the corridor into the turbolift. The moment the doors hissed shut, the ship sharply lurched starboard causing Jim to fly into the Vulcan, strong arms caught him as they both smashed against the curved wall of the lift. The lights flickered as the ship endured another powerful blow, rattling the lift violently.

"Shit!" Jim cursed, pushing way from the Vulcan, regaining his bearings. "Are you all right?"

"I am unharmed." He stated, tugging at the crinkle in his uniform.

Jim rolled his eyes at the compulsive action.

_Typical. _

The doors hissed open, revealing the bridge that was currently consumed in chaos. The crew shouted and bustled around frantically.

"Keptin on ze bridge!" Chekov shouted as the ship rocked again.

"Status report!" Jim demanded, scurrying from the lift toward the chair as the bridge crew shouted their replies over the blaring red alert system.

"Shields are down to sixty percent, Captain!"

"Minor hull damage!"

"Phaser banks are currently disabled!"

"Deflector shields?" Jim inquired hastily.

"Down, sir!" Chekov replied, "It appears zey are specifically targeting our defense systems!"

"Mr. Spock, what are we dealing with?" He half-jogged to the science station, the Vulcan's slender fingers diligently pressing buttons as he scanned the assailing ship with haste.

"It is a _B'rel class Bird-of-prey_, Captain." Spock replied hastily, "And it appears to be the sole operating vessel of its class within an eight-thousand meter radius."

"It's alone?"

"Affirmative."

"Uhura!" Whipping around in her chair, she pinned him with a quizzical stare, "Open all frequencies—attempt to hail them."

"Aye, sir!"

"Captain, I presume they will not be so amenable to a conference." Spock stated, ascending from his chair, falling in step with Jim as he instinctively returned to the captain's chair, "The assault demonstrates a precise strategy that provides a perception that their initial intentions are not determined to be peaceful."

"I appreciate the insight, Spock, but the fact they're alone is strange. They don't usually travel individually, especially this far into Federation territory." Jim slid onto the chair, scrutinizing the ship lingering reservedly at a distance.

"They have ceased fire, Captain, and have raised their shields." Sulu chimed in as the blaring sirens were immediately cut.

"Uhura?" Jim inquired tentatively.

"Nothing, sir. They aren't responding."

"Try again."

"Aye, sir."

Suddenly, the ship dipped slightly, the exterior warping before unexpectedly vanishing. Jim jerked, bolting up from the chair, eyes widening with shock.

"Where'd they go?" Jim demanded incredulously.

"Scanners show no signs of the vessel, sir."

_What?_

"Impossible." Jim muttered, glancing sideways at the Vulcan who stood rigidly, arms folded behind him, hands clasped at the small of his back. Dark eyes scanned the empty space before them before pinning him with a hardened stare.

_Shit. He's worried too._

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading and please review!**


	7. Chapter Seven

**The Needs of The One**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

Jim cursed under his breath, pivoting on his heel and smashing the transmission on the armrest, "Mr. Scott."

A crackle filtered through the speaker briefly before a thick Scottish accent bellowed in the background, _"If ya had done wha' I told ya ta do in tha' first place, then this wouldna' happened!"_ A beat as the Scot refocused on the transmission, _"Oh aye, Captain—Scotty here."_

"Mr. Scott, what's the damage?"

"_Tha' phaser banks are fried, sir. Tha' damage is extensive, I cannae determine the amount o' time they'll remain offline—Oy! Don't touch tha'!"_ His voice muffled slightly as he turned away from the speaker, a blaring hiss suddenly piercing the receiving end of the _comm_. _"Now look wha' ya did!"_

Gritting his teeth, he grounded out evenly, "I need those phaser banks operational, Scotty."

"_I know, sir, I'm workin' on it right now!"_

Jim sighed heavily, "Any other damage to report?"

"_Tha' hull has taken a beating bu' thankfully there were no breaches—other than tha', there's nothin' further ta' report." _

"Alright…Kirk out." The connection cut and he scrubbed his face in agitation, "Mr. Sulu."

"Aye, sir?"

"What is the current ETA for our rendezvous with the _Constellation_?"

The Asian swung around in his chair, fingers typing hastily over the controls, "Two days, four hours and six minutes."

Jim's mind raced, analyzing the random assault, attempting to decipher any motive they might've possessed.

Jerking with sudden comprehension, he hastily stated, "Mr. Sulu, you have the _Conn._—Mr. Spock, if you'd come with me?" Scurrying around the Vulcan, he b-lined it toward the lift, feeling the familiar shadow tailing him.

"Captain?" Spock inquired curiously as the lift's door slid shut behind them, the whir of machinery echoed in the enclosed space as it descended.

"This wasn't a random attack nor was it done in self-defense." Jim murmured as he shifted closer, feeling the heat radiating from the Vulcan's body.

The dark eyes bore down upon him, scrutinizing him with a heavy gaze, "You have formed a theory?"

"No, not a theory, I know I'm right."

The eyebrow arched, puzzled, "If you would elaborate?"

"Spock." Jim breathed, taking a small step to breach the invisible personal-space bubble, inhaling a potent sweet aroma as he halted a mere inch from him—captivated by the dark depths of his eyes, "Think about it. Why else would they target our defense systems?"

Spock's eyebrows furrowed slightly, "To render the mechanisms inert."

"Yes!" Jim whispered, "And why would they want that?"

"Captain, your prolixity of the matter is tedious."

Jim's lips twitched slightly with amusement, "Get to the point? Alright, here it is— it's obvious why they targeted the phaser banks, to keep us from returning fire. But there was another purpose to it since that wasn't their initial target."

The Vulcan's head ticked to the side, a quizzical eyebrow arching, "And you have determined the purpose?"

"Yes, they wanted to break down our shields." Jim glanced away momentarily before continuing, "When the shields fail, it leaves the ship vulnerable for certain penetrable forces that aren't always _visible_."

"Are you indicating the possibility of an intruder?"

"Bingo." A spike of exhilaration flared over him with Spock's comprehension. "That's exactly what I'm indicating. They didn't bombard the ship to just deplete the shields but to also add a distraction while they beamed someone aboard." Licking his lips nervously, he continued, "I think it might be an assassin."

"You are certain?"

"What else could it be, Spock?" Jim stated exasperatedly, "We currently have two Vulcan Ambassadors aboard and we're headed to retrieve a large group of elite delegates for a crucial conference—it makes sense."

The dark eyes ghosted over his face, eyebrow furrowing slightly as he contemplated. "Your logic is sound."

Deflating slightly, Jim nodded curtly as the doors to the turbo lift hissed open, "We need to conduct a ship wide search." He murmured, whipping around and striding from the lift dutifully.

Spock hastily fell into step beside him, their arms brushing against each other in the close proximity.

"I am inclined to agree; however, I must expound the risks if you are contemplating participation in the procedure." He stated firmly, dark eyes fixating on him, a glint of a thought flickering to life within the black pupils.

Irritated with the Vulcan's sudden need to play mother hen again, Jim abruptly halted, pivoting to address him, "Listen, I appreciate your concerns, but I can take care of myself. I have two Ambassadors and an entire crew to protect—that is more important right now."

"As Captain you are an irreplaceable and essential role to the functionality of the ship. As your First Officer, it is within my duties to—"

Jim released an aggravated sigh, successfully interrupting his vexing assertion of conduct.

"Yes, I get that, but I'm not going to sit back and twiddle my thumbs while putting the rest of you in jeopardy." He declared as he was suddenly overcome with an intense heat that caused him to sway slightly—taking a small step backwards before reflexively rising his hand to the burning flesh of his face.

How had he not noticed the fever until now?

_Shit…not again._

"Captain." Spock said gently, a hand reaching out to grasp his arm, steadying him. "You are unwell."

"I'm all right." He stated breathlessly, batting away the hand. "Quit worrying."

"Vulcans do not worry."

"Yeah, and fish don't swim." Jim retorted weakly, turning to lean heavily against the bulkhead—the sleek metal cool beneath his palm.

"Captain." Spock approached him warily, the pale hand extended midair.

Jim was certain the Vulcan had stated something else, but a sudden ringing in his ears prevented the meticulous vernacular to reach him. His vision broke into pieces, shapes and shadows swirling before him in a disorienting dance. Perspiration gathered on his brow, feeling the tickle of the droplets as they slid down his face. Knees buckling unexpectedly, he felt a brief rush of air before strong arms caught him, gently easing him to the floor.

He reached out with a trembling hand, gripping the Vulcan's forearm feebly as darkness consumed his sight. For a moment, he was aware of his body slackening, sagging limply in the Vulcan's arms before a strange numbness stole the sense from him.

And as he reluctantly slipped into unconsciousness, a muffled shout from above him pierced the air.

"Jim!"

* * *

Voices.

He was surrounded by them—whether or not they originated from a particular source came as a complete loss for him. They were both familiar and not—like a distant memory he couldn't quite recall. They penetrated the darkness, reverberating through the vast emptiness that encased him.

"_Speak to him—I think he'll be able to hear you now. Just tell him what's on your mind." _

Who were they?

What was he?

Where was this place?

The voice began to speak and at first he could not decipher the words—finding himself drifting closer at an attempt for clarity.

"_You claimed your self-sacrifice to be logical and although the results were indeed sufficient, I have found the repercussions to be…discouraging."_

The voice echoed loudly, as though it was nearby and he struggled to comprehend any significance behind the statement—or who was speaking it.

"_I...do not like to see you this way."_ The voice stated, a bit apprehensive to do so. _"I desire your return."_ A short silence, _"Although it is illogical to harbor such yearnings, I must admit that I indeed…miss you." _

Miss him?

The words baffled him, unsure as to why they were speaking with such affliction.

"_Please…"_ The voice softened, _"return to me, Jim."_

A third voice drifted into the darkness from a distance, _"Perhaps you are amenable to a suggestion?"_ Missing the reply as he was swiftly tugged back, swallowed whole by the suffocating black void.

* * *

The familiar beeps steadily gained intensity as he drifted back toward consciousness, this time flooding into a solid form he could recognize. Something was wrapped tightly around his face, pumping filtered air into his parted lips and nostrils—failing to gather any saliva and swallow to ease the dry crevices. Moaning softly, he shifted his head, the fabric peeling away from the damp skin at the nape of his neck. Eyelids like lead, he pried them open to slits, the bright lights of the room pouring into his pupils.

A swish of cloth grated against his sensitive ears as a dark figured morphed into his bleary vision.

"Jim?" The soft baritone inquired gently. "Have you regained consciousness?"

He attempted to speak but found he lacked the strength to. The dark figure seemed to comprehend his predicament, nodding curtly with acknowledgement.

"I see." A pale hand reached out, the pads of warm fingers lying gently against the clammy flesh of his face, a strange buzz tickling his skin at the contact. "You have successfully troubled several individuals, Jim." The sentence was not aimed to scold but to emphasis just how grave the situation had been.

Coughing, he croaked with a neglected voice, vibrating the respirator mask, "What happened?"

The pad of the elder's thumb traced gingerly over his cheekbone, eliciting a small chill to crawl down his spine. "You had succumbed to your illness. It appears your symptoms have taken—as you phrase—'a turn for the worst'. A collapsed lung and an enigmatic coma are quite disconcerting."

Jim nodded feebly, not quite comprehending his words, "Where…?"

"He is currently greeting the delegates as you were hindered to do so." The elder Vulcan stated as though he had read his mind—the fingers slipping away from his face. "However, I was instructed to inform him upon your arousal, and I will honor that request. I will ascertain your status at a more suitable convenience. Rest well, dear one."

On that note he strode from Jim's bedside, listening as the footsteps faded away. Through his drug-addled brain, he glanced around the private room, sluggishly realizing that Bones was nowhere to be found which was strange to say the least.

Time eluded him as he lied there vulnerable, despising each passing moment.

After what felt like eons, a sudden crash jolted him from his somewhat trance-like state.

"Mr. Spock!" A voice cried in alarm.

"My apologies." The Vulcan hastily replied before several clinks and clangs reverberated through the medical bay.

"It's alright, I'm sorry—you just frightened me." The nurse laughed sheepishly. "I assume you've heard he's awake?"

"That is correct."

"Well, go on. I think I can handle picking up the rest of it."

Footfalls of boots echoed as he briskly approached the bedside. Jim blinked rapidly, attempting to clear away his clouded vision as the Vulcan halted near the headboard.

"Spock…" He croaked, coughing feebly.

"Captain." The Vulcan replied gutturally, standing rigid at parade rest, aphotic eyes bearing down upon him.

"How…how long…?"

"You have been unconscious for 2.6 days." He replied a bit too quickly.

Jim nodded, "I see. Where's….Bones?" His voice strained as he shifted his head to a more comfortable position.

"He is currently occupied in the labs. The Ambassador has offered to inform him of your current conscious state on my behalf." He stated matter-of-factly.

Jim nodded again, raising his hand to the mask. He struggled to remove it as his hand trembled from the exertion. A warm hand abruptly covered his, pushing the mask back toward his face.

"I advise against this action, it may cause you harm to remove it." Once again, he realized it was not meant to be scolding.

"Have you…found the…intruder?" Jim inquired as the pale hand retracted from his.

"I have not obtained solid evidence indicating any additional presence aboard."

Jim groaned, too groggy to continue to converse business.

"Are you in pain, Captain?" Spock inquired with such softness to his voice that it stunned Jim momentarily.

_Could it be…?_

Shaking his head slightly, he replied, "Call me…Jim." He coughed again.

"Jim." The Vulcan said with the same degree of softness, almost like a prayer, "I am…pleased you have regained consciousness." Then the Vulcan did something completely unexpected. His pale hand reached out, pads of his warm fingers gingerly traced the skin of Jim's temple and down to the edge of his jaw before—reluctantly—retracting. A subtle buzz hummed along the skin that he had touched. The expression on the Vulcan's face was akin to shock as though he were also uncertain of the reason he had desired physical contact. "My apologies…" He trailed off, averting his gaze.

Something dawned on him in that moment—almost like the missing puzzle piece had finally snapped into place.

"Spock…do you—?"

"About time you woke up!" The familiar accented voice chided from the doorway. "I was starting to get severely irritated with your 'boyfriend' loitering around here." He stated through gritted teeth, jabbing a thumb in Spock's direction.

Jim felt a sudden heat leak into his face at the comment, voice croaking as he meekly protested, "Not…my boyfriend, Bones."

"Right." He grinned wryly as he approached them, "Anyway, your 'boy-toy' needs to leave—I need to check you over."

Spock's head suddenly ticked to the side, eyebrows furrowing imperceptibly.

"Doctor…as First Officer, it is my right to be present throughout the duration of the examination." He stated evenly, clearly disregarding the 'boy-toy' reference.

"Well, I'm going to have to ask you to leave for this one, Spock. Jim needs some breathing room right now."

Now it was Jim's turn to glance at him inquisitively. It wasn't uncommon for Bones to usher out the Vulcan while he was bedridden, but it was a rare occurrence to shoo him away as soon as Jim was coherent. Through the grogginess of his mind, a small inaudible voice was shouting that something was amiss. And as the dark impassive eyes passed between Bones and him warily, he perceived that the Vulcan was also thinking along the same lines.

"I see." He stated uncertainly, "Then I shall expect a full report within the hour."

Bones rolled his eyes as he folded his arms across in chest, "Of course, when don't you?"

"Whilst I am present." Spock retorted, taking the doctor aback.

"Get out of here, you smart-ass hobgoblin, I've got a sick patient to examine!" Bones groused, maneuvering around him toward the display board, reading his vitals with keen interest.

Dark eyes flickered back to Jim, ghosting over his features briefly, "I would be most inclined to participate in our current pastime activity upon the conclusion of my shift, if you are capable?"

Jim issued a lopsided grin, which he was certain had gone unnoticed by the thick plastic covering his mouth.

"Of course."

A glint occurred in the dark pools as he curtly nodded, glancing toward Bones again before departing swiftly from the room.

A few moments passed before Bones released a small sigh, pivoting, he traipsing back to the bed dutifully. Digging into the pocket of his trousers, he produced the sleek metal device from hell—a calloused hand gripping Jim's chin, guiding his head to turn away, exposing his neck.

"I had hoped you would've stayed asleep, _Captain_."

Jim gasped as the hypo was administered, a sting ringing out momentarily before a wave of exhaustion flooded over him. Muscles suddenly flaccid, he struggled to operate his mouth as the narcotics rapidly pumped through his veins. The EKG monitor spiked as panic flared through him—heart thundering against his chest.

"You're…not...Bo—"His sentence was curtailed as he lost control of the muscles in his face—the sensation of being forcibly tugged into unconsciousness petrifying him.

"Yes." The familiar face of Bones produced an unnatural sinister grin, "Now, go to sleep, Jim." He purred, the rough pads of his fingers caressing the flesh of his cheek.

As he slipped away, his last thoughts were that of the Vulcan's eyes—glossed over, broken.

_Spock…_

* * *

**A/N: Hope it was worth the wait! Thanks for reading and please review!**


	8. Chapter Eight

**A/N: You may be wondering why Jim's part was so short. Well, I wanted to make this mostly in Spock's POV, so whenever I write Jim's, it won't be for very long. **

* * *

**The Needs of The One**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

"Listen, I appreciate your concerns, but I can take care of myself. I have two Ambassadors and an entire crew to protect—that is more important right now." He murmured irritably, staring intently up at him from beneath dark lashes.

Albeit highly illogical, he did not concur with his statement.

"As Captain, you are an irreplaceable and essential role to the functionality of the ship. As your First Officer, it is within my duties to—"

There was a sudden aggravated sigh, the blue orbs rolling up toward the ceiling, instantly silencing him. This was not uncommon; he appeared to irritate the man consistently whenever he stated regulations and protocol. Although he was aware that Jim possessed a peculiar compulsion to disregard advice pertaining to his own wellbeing, he was strangely overcome with a desire to protect him from certain precarious scenarios. Jim was notorious for plunging head first into danger without so much as taking a brief moment to envisage the possible outcomes—usually returning with lacerations of varying degrees or found teetering between life and death.

"Yes, I get that, but I'm not going to sit back and twiddle my thumbs while putting the rest of you in jeopardy." Jim declared—observing as he slightly swayed on his feet before taking a tiny step backward. His hand promptly compressed against the flushed skin of his face as he panted softly—beads of perspiration gathering upon his brow.

"Captain." Heart pounding against his side, he hastily reached out, grasping the man's arm as he listed heavily—the heat from the fever burned with great intensity against the flesh of his palm even with the layers of fabric separating it from Jim's skin. "You are unwell."

"I'm all right." He protested breathlessly, batting away Spock's hand which reluctantly relinquished his arm. "Quit worrying."

"Vulcans do not worry." He replied evenly, reaching out his hand hesitantly as Jim swayed again.

"Yeah, and fish don't swim." He retorted meekly, turning away and leaned heavily against the bulkhead, arm trembling as it supported his weight.

Spock analyzed how the man's eyelids suddenly drooped, his breathing labored as though he had exerted himself passed his limits, lips tinting a blue hue.

"Captain." A hand extended as he took a hesitant step forward, stating solicitously, "I insist we head to medical bay…Captain?"

Suddenly the man's knees buckled, slumping to the floor. Reflexively, his hands reached out to catch him, his body limply collapsing against his. Easing him to the floor, Jim grasped his forearm weakly—trembling violently.

"Captain!"

Only a mere 2.3 seconds later, he slackened—his grip weakened as he steadily succumbed to unconsciousness.

The peculiar constriction occurred in his side once more, a rush of something akin to panic rising through him as he shouted, "Jim!"

The man was unresponsive, the blue hue to his lips darkened as his breaths abruptly ceased. Gathering him against his chest, he lifted him from the ground before briskly jogging back toward the lift. Spock was achingly aware of how crucial every second was while his brain was deprived of oxygen—clutching the slack form tighter to him as he laid his hand against the artery at the crook of his neck, feeling the rapid pulse thrumming irregularly beneath the pads of his fingers.

The lift's doors hissed open and he thundered down the corridor, ignoring the startled glances from passing crewmen as he bolted into the med-bay.

"Mr. Spock!" The blond nurse he recognized as "Chapel" cried, her cerulean eyes widening with surprise, "Captain!"

"Where is Doctor McCoy?" Spock demanded, taking a fleeting glance around the large space.

"He's in his office, I'll get him. Place him in there." She pointed in the direction of a private room before scurrying off.

Spock hurried into the cramped, private space—the invisible knot re-coiling in his core as he deposited Jim gently onto the pallet. A small whine escaped through the small crevice of his lips—a hand flexing and clenching as though he were reaching for an object to aid him in his feeble attempts to breathe.

_The ghost of the emotion fleeting between them briefly before Jim's unsteady hand weakly pressed against the glass._

_He returned the gesture in the form of the ta'al. Gasping slightly as Jim adjusted his hand to match. Was it possible he comprehended its meaning? _

_Then the blue orbs darted back, staring intently into his._

_Jim understood._

Hindered at that moment by a thick sheet of glass, unable to touch, to soothe him as he suffered—Spock vowed he would not allow Jim to relive such pain without the comfort he craved.

"_I'm scared, Spock. Help me not be."_

"Jim." He reached out toward the desperate hand clawing at the air, "Do not be afraid, I am here."

The tan hand suddenly latched onto his and his shields failed as he was overwhelmed by pain and conflicting emotions. Jim's surface thoughts were chaos, fear stealing the breath from his body as a potent burn scorched his flesh. Spock struggled to untangle his mind from Jim's protruding thoughts, raising his crumbling shields and reinforcing them until he regained a sturdy equilibrium.

Eyes snapping open, he observed the hand clamped around his with an iron grip, knuckles glowing white from the strain. The whistling echoed in the enclosed space with each failed endeavor to breathe. Spock desperately desired to steal the pain from him and place it onto himself, although he was uncertain how.

It was illogical to harbor such refined sentiments; however, it pained him to see his friend suffering.

No, there was something more than friendship. Why had he offered his hand in comfort without hesitation? Was it possible there was more than he had anticipated? A connection he had previously been unable to fathom?

"_Then why did you send Kirk aboard when you alone could have explained the truth?"_

"_Because you needed each other. I could not deprive you of the revelation of all you could accomplish together—of a friendship that would define you both in ways you could not yet realize."_

"A friendship that would define us in ways we could not yet realize." Spock reiterated softly, glimpsing at the man's face—distorted by pain.

"_Remember what I have stated upon our first encounter, there is a depth you must decipher on your own. Recall my words."_

As he mulled over his ambivalence toward the Human, a wave of relief flooded over him as the doctor barged into the room—gently easing his hand from Jim's weakening grip as the disgruntled man scurried toward the pallet.

"Good God! Chapel, bring me a respirator stat!" He shouted, cursing beneath his breath as he fumbled with the machinery, hastily hooking him to the correct wiring.

The display board sprung to life with a sluggish, irregular heart rate. Spock analyzed the board, noting the levels of his blood pressure, the erratic waves of his brain activity on the EEG. They were alarmingly far beneath normal—alarms blaring as organs commenced unexpected failures.

"Doctor…he is dying."

"Yes, Spock, I know that!" The doctor spat, scanning Jim's body with haste. "Shit!" Slamming down the tricorder on the metal tray beside the pallet, he whirled around, yanking open a draw to retrieve a long tube.

"Doctor, what is the diagnosis?" He inquired, voice straining slightly as he rounded the pallet to gain a clearer view of the examination.

"He has a large pneumothorax in his right lung which has collapsed!" Cursing again, he began hooking the man to IV drips as the nurse bustled in, a small box and plastic masked clutched in her hands. "Get that on him! We need to perform a Pleurodesis immediately!" The Doctor paused, glancing up toward Spock with panic-stricken eyes, "Spock, you need to leave the room. I'll come get you as soon as he's stable, alright?"

He did not want to leave—illogical as his presence could impede the doctor's performance through the duration of the procedure.

"Very well." He replied expeditiously, eyes ghosting over Jim's ashen face—a hard lump lodged in his throat as he nodded curtly, pivoting on his heel and swiftly exited the room.

His mind reeled as he strode through the main floor of the medical bay, the perturbing tug to return and stand beside Jim pounded relentlessly against his shields, causing each step to become exceedingly difficult. Halting before the main doors that led into the corridor, he turned towards a chair set against the wall a few feet away with a curtain drawn next to it—secluded. Acknowledging that he had duties to perform whilst the Captain was impotent, he quickly decided to stay until he was certain Jim had attained a stable state before returning to the bridge to conduct a ship-wide search.

The peculiar decision was indeed quite illogical as he was certain the doctor would not withhold any information regarding Jim's health; however, he could not discount the strange compelling desire to remain in the medical bay.

Jim needed him.

* * *

The medical bay was draped in an uncanny silence—Jim being the only patient at the moment. He sat rigidly, hands placed on his knees, adrift in light meditation.

"Spock." A voice said meekly from above him.

His head jerked slightly, eyes opening to reveal a weary McCoy—arms crossed casually over his chest, shoulders slumped.

"Doctor—?"

"He's stable." He interjected, heaving a sigh as he scrubbed a hand over his face, "Have you really been sitting here the entire four hours?"

Nonplussed, he replied, "I have." Fluently ascending from the chair, he stated firmly, "I desire to see him."

Another sigh escaped the man's lips, "I'm not sure you should, Spock." The loose skin surrounding his eyes tightened, the hazel orbs darkening with a haunted internal thought.

This reaction did not deter him as he swiftly brushed passed, striding toward Jim's room without protest from the man. As he entered, he was struck with the distinguishable odor of blood—it hung like a heavy cloud, mingling with the scents of antiseptics and crisp filtered air.

Padding across the dimly lit room, he approached the bedside, swallowing thickly as he glanced over Jim's unconscious form. A thick mask covered his nose and mouth—strangely causing him to appear frail and youthful. The dark lashes contrasted the ashen flesh of his cheekbone, eyelids twitching slightly. His exposed torso rose and fell unevenly—the tube he had witnessed the doctor retrieve prior to the procedure was now embedded just below his ribcage, bandages placed in giant wads around it, tinting a pale red with each breath.

Spock's breath hitched at the sight.

_Jim._

A guttural accented voice suddenly stated from behind him, "I think this might be out of my hands, Spock. I know it's standard procedure to inform Starfleet of his condition, but...if they force him to step down from command…" He trailed off, letting the heavy unspoken words hang between them.

_It would destroy him._

"I understand." Spock replied levelly, glancing toward the man who warily lurked in the doorway, "It appears my current duties may hinder me from that particular responsibility. I will allow you to inform them at your earliest convenience, Doctor."

The corner of the man's twitched, issuing a wry grin as he perceived the hint, "Of course, Spock. I'll see to it when I can."

His own mouth twitched, suppressing a smile as they regarded each other for a few moments, the rhythmic sounds of the EKG monitor and Jim's ragged breaths echoed in the cramped space.

The doctor cleared his throat, head jerking toward the prone form on the pallet, "Speak to him—I think he'll be able to hear you now. Just tell him what's on your mind." And with that said, the man pivoted on his heel, striding languidly from the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

Spock scrutinized the door briefly before returning his attention back to Jim.

What should he say?

"Cap-Jim…" He began warily; it was illogical to speak to someone who was incapable of a response. "I have been perturbed by certain occurrences since your return." His eyes ghosted over the man's features, silently wishing to see the familiar startling blue hues of his eyes staring back at him. "I…have desired to address this issue with you but have found the subject exceedingly intricate to elucidate properly."

Inhaling deeply, he continued, "I have been troubled and have struggled to maintain focus during my meditation sessions since your demise. It appears your death has weighed heavily upon me…creating an inner turmoil that I had only endured once prior as my home world was consumed—along with my mother." Taking a quick glance over his shoulder at the door, he murmured softly, "I…care for you."

A line unexpectedly spiked on the EEG—was it possible that Jim was capable of comprehension in his comatose state?

"You claimed your self-sacrifice to be logical and although the results were indeed sufficient, I have found the repercussions to be…discouraging." He glanced toward the tube again, a sinking feeling striking him, stating apprehensively, "I…do not like to see you this way." Returning to scrutinize his face, he continued, "I desire your return."

The words were eerily similar to those he uttered to him during the long weeks of recovery as Khan's blood processed through his body. His side constricted, heart pounding as he pressed on.

"Although it is illogical to harbor such yearnings, I must admit that I indeed…miss you."

Another spike on the EEG—Jim _could _hear him, he was convinced.

"Please…" He spoke softly as he extended two fingers, pressing them against Jim's that lay limply on the pallet, a pleasing sensation surged through his arm at the contact. The action was impulsive, yet it felt strangely…right. "Return to me, Jim."

"Perhaps you are amenable to a suggestion?" A soft baritone voice suddenly interjected, cutting him swiftly from his confessions—yanking his hand away with haste.

Whipping around, he observed as his elder counterpart strode inside, hands clasped at the small of his back.

"If there is a possibility that your advice may harm him—"

"Do you believe I am capable of making such a careless suggestion?" The elder interjected, a small amount of acrimony underlining his leveled tone.

Spock ticked his head to the side, regarding him curiously, "I do not know. I am uncertain of your intentions."

He released an audible breath, "You do not trust me."

"No, I do not." Spock replied, eyes narrowing.

The elder nodded curtly, "May I inquire your reason? Jim harbors no mistrust—"

"He is still ignorant to your deception." Spock retorted expeditiously, imposing himself between the elder and Jim. "And your behavior suggests you believe he belongs to you."

"Ah, I see." He stated evenly, "Have you reflected upon my previous advice?"

"I have."

"Have you deciphered the underlining message?"

"Yes, you are indicating there had been a deeper connection with your James Kirk that surpassed friendship." He stated firmly, "And I have acknowledged that you view this James Kirk as the one of your time—he is not yours."

"No…he is not." The elder agreed solemnly, "I do; however, find being within his presence exceedingly pleasing."

Spock took a small daunting step toward him, "You cannot have him."

"Is the reason for your current display of possessiveness due to a revelation of your own desires?"

Spock stilled, realizing his elder counterpart had witnessed the intimacy he displayed and was unable to refute it.

"I am not you." Spock riposted.

"Forgive me," The elder stated with an air of agitation, "but it appears you are evading the inquiry." Although it was against Spock's nature to turn his back to an elder, he forced himself to turn away. The elder released another audible breath, "I was once in your position, young one. Do not allow logic to dictate your decisions when it regards Jim. You will experience great hardships if you do."

Spock glanced toward the Human, the possessiveness he had not quite comprehended prior to the elder's speculation flooded over him. It perturbed him immensely.

"This is illogical, he is my commanding officer—my Captain…my friend."

"Yes; however, it is also illogical to be stationed at his bedside rather than commanding the ship in his stead, is it not?"

Spock's eyebrows furrowed imperceptibly, mind reeling. Silence filtered between them, the weight of the elder's gaze burning into his broad back.

Releasing an audible breath, he relented, "What is your suggestion?"

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading and please review!**


	9. Chapter Nine

**The Needs of The One**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

"No." He firmly stated, something akin to outrage stirring within him at the audacity of the proposal. The very notion only further proved his earlier speculation that his counterpart possessed a certain conjecture that this time stream's James Kirk was his to claim due to the previous bond formed with his own captain.

He would not permit it.

"Doctor McCoy has divulged that his current comatose state is an enigma. According to his prognosis, Jim should have regained consciousness at this point. As I am sure you have noted, his brain waves are quite disconcerting." A beat, "He may never be revived without aid."

He was not fond of the casual way his counterpart used Jim's name.

"That does not explain the reason that you alone must perform it." Spock replied acrimoniously, "And it would be a violation of his person."

An undecipherable flicker occurred within the tender brown eyes, "I do not believe he would be opposed to the action."

Anger flared behind his shields at his presumptuous statement, "You can be certain of this?" He retorted—tone dark, threatening.

The elder went rigid, muscles abruptly clenching in his jaw, "I am."

Astounded, he stole a fleeting glance towards Jim, unable to decipher his elder counterpart's absurd assumptions—his staggering determination to encroach upon Jim's dire circumstances. He appeared to possess a dignitary disposition, expelling an air of entitlement.

An abrupt rush of something akin to rage smashed against his mental shields as he steadily comprehended the situation, hand clenching into a tight fist as he inhaled a shaky breath.

"You have already performed this." He accused, a growl emanating from his chest.

The elder released an audible breath, "Yes. It was necessary to exchange critical information; however, I had not intended for—"

"Correct this!" Taking another daunting step, a red haze began to settle over his vision. "Dissolve the bond!"

"Be calm, young one." He spoke gently, glancing toward the prone form on the pallet, "I have sought training from healers to do just that." Softened eyes returned to regard Spock, he continued, "I can assure you…it was unintentional."

Trembling with fury, Spock growled lowly, "I do not believe you."

Nodding slowly, he replied, "I understand your doubts, but I must perform the meld." A beat, "You may oversee the process if you wish." Murmuring as he averted his gaze, "His mind cries out for you."

Stunned briefly, his anger abruptly abated, "What are you attempting to convey?"

Hesitantly, the elder padded through the room, "Although our compatibility may have inadvertently formed a weak bond between us…there is another that is more _refined_."

"I do not understand."

"Do you not feel a certain intangible tug as though he were calling for you?"

Taken aback slightly, he observed as the elder brushed passed him, approaching the bedside, eyes settling on Jim's face.

Discombobulated, he replied tentatively, "Yes."

"There lies your answer." Glancing over his shoulder, he continued, "Do not view me as a rival, but more as a guide. I was not aware of the connection with _my_ Jim as well until…" He trailed off, averting his gaze, scrutinizing a specific point on the monitor with a vacant expression.

"Until?" Spock pressed, an eyebrow arching in curiosity.

"Until I made a grave mistake with which I cannot discuss at present. It was a life lesson of my own." He replied solemnly.

"I see."

He sidled up to the elder, eyes ghosting over Jim's face briefly, mind reeling from the sudden comprehension to his previous perturbing desires. His counterpart reached a pale hand toward the young man's face, hovering hesitantly in midair.

"Do you wish to know the answer to Jim's query?"

The strange constriction at his side occurred, heart rate increasing, "Yes."

A fleeting moment of silence draped between them before he whispered softly, "I loved him."

Without another word, the fingers compressed against the ashen flesh of Jim's face—initiating the meld.

* * *

"Mr. Scott."

"_Aye, sir?"_

"Have you observed any suspicious activity within your sector?" Spock inquired, observing the bridge team as they diligently worked to secure and scan the ship.

The thick Scottish accent floated over the speaker, _"I cannae say I have, sir. We have done a thorough search in e'ry nook and cranny and haven' found anythin'. If there's an intruder, I don' believe he is down here."_

"I see. Please remain alert and promptly report if the situation changes."

"_Aye, sir."_

The transmission cut and he quickly diverted his attention to the helmsmen, "Mr. Sulu."

"Aye, sir?"

"Has the system detected any unusual readings?"

"Can't say that it has—all crewmen are accounted for and there's no sign of a stowaway."

It appeared Jim's theory was rapidly deteriorating as the search progressed, yet he could not disregard his confidence over the matter. It was Jim after all who had warned Captain Pike of the impending Romulan assault upon their approach to _Vuclan. _He was the man who risked his life in the minefield of debris separating the ships in order to subdue the corrupted Admiral Marcus.

He was the one who had perished to save the crew—to save Spock.

All the honorable actions as he claimed were based entirely off a "gut feeling"—his own perceived logic.

This circumstance held no significant difference.

"What is our estimated time of arrival with the _Constellation_?"

"Ten meenutes, sir." Chekov hastily informed, rotating in his chair slightly to regard him.

"Very well. Mr. Sulu, you have the _conn._ I will be in the transporter room to greet the delegates when they're beamed aboard."

"Aye, sir."

Spock slid from the chair, striding dutifully toward the turbolift. Since the revelation he experienced in the medical bay, his meditation sessions had strangely become more efficient—his mind and body rejuvenated. The mistrust he harbored for his elder counterpart had seemingly dissipated once he mused over their previous confabulation, his words ringing true as he delved into the depths that were previously unfathomable.

"_Do not allow logic to dictate your decisions when it regards Jim. You will experience great hardships if you do."_

"_I want you to know why I came back for you, why I couldn't let you die."_

"_I loved him."_

The lift abruptly halted, the doors swishing open to reveal the man he had grown quite accustomed to—a bit disheveled, eyes blood shot.

"Doctor McCoy, how is—?"

"Still unconscious." He interjected expeditiously, heaving a heavy sigh, he shuffled into the lift, the pad of his thumb pressing against the control pad. "But his EEG readings are beginning to reach a stable pattern which means he should be coming out of it soon." Quickly muttering below his breath, "At least I hope."

Apparently, the meld had sufficiently aided him toward recovery.

"That is good news."

"Yeah, well, he better enjoy it while it lasts because as soon as he's awake, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind for scaring us like that." He groused, folding his arms over his chest, "He's going to send me to the grave, I just know it."

The corner of Spock's mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile, "Are you this fanatical with all your patients, Doctor?"

The man stilled, mouth slightly hung agape as he mused over the query.

"Was that a _joke_, Spock?" He inquired with incredulity, hazel eyes brightening with comprehension, "My God…it _was_, I can't believe it—Jim was right!"

"Vulcans do not joke."

"Sure, Vulcans don't," He issued a wry grin, "but _half_ Vulcans do."

The corner of his mouth twitched again, "Indeed?"

Releasing an exasperated snort, he muttered under his breath, "_Dammit_, I'm going to be out a good chunk of credits now, not to mention cleaning his quarters like I'm some goddamn maid." Snorting again, he continued, "Not like I didn't do enough of _that _anyway at the academy."

"I do not understand."

The doctor shook his head vigorously, "Nothing, Spock." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stated, "I'm heading back to the labs—I'm running a few more tests with his blood, see if anything turns up that we missed before."

"I see. You will inform me if you determine an ailment?"

"Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on."

Arching an eyebrow, he countered, "I do not understand the reason I would remove my garments at this particular time?"

The man's eyes rolled in their sockets, releasing an exasperated huff, speaking emphatically toward the ceiling, "_Why_ did I agree to do this again? I could have said no, but the damn kid just had to give me those big blue puppy dog eyes until I agreed. _Dammit_, I could've been on a beach somewhere."

Spock remained silent, acknowledging the man's ramblings were not aimed toward him. The lift ceased its descent, doors hissing open, depositing him onto the correct deck.

"Spock."

He abruptly halted, pivoting slightly to regard him—eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch expectantly.

"Yes, Doctor?

"I forgot my communicator back in medical bay—can you get me if he wakes up while I'm gone?"

An eyebrow rose curiously, "Of course, Doctor, and perhaps you should be more mindful of the location of your required devices before departing from your designated sector."

The man scowled as he scoffed, "Jesus, man, I'm a _doctor_ not a green-blooded robot like _you_! I can only remember so much!" Turning, he smashed his fist against the control pad, glowering toward Spock as the lift's doors hissed shut.

_Fascinating. _

* * *

The meeting room was crowded with delegates—a dull roar reverberated through the enclosed space from the consistent chatter while they indulged in refreshments. Spock stood rigid, arms folded neatly behind him, hands clasped at the small of his back as he attempted to maintain a fair distance from other species that appeared to be quite comfortable engaging in physical contact. He scanned the room listlessly—his mind wandering to the sandy blond haired man hauled up in a cramped, private room several decks below.

"You appear distracted." The familiar monotone voice jarred him from his reverie.

"Father." He acknowledged, nodding curtly as he halted beside him.

"May I inquire the whereabouts of Captain Kirk? The delegates are quite displeased with his absence."

"He has fallen ill." He replied expeditiously, "I am here in his stead."

"I see…that is unfortunate."

He glanced curiously toward the stoic face, dark eyes penetrating him with an undecipherable gaze.

"Are you well?" Spock inquired, averting his eyes.

"I am." Threading his fingers together, he stated, "Your conduct has altered immensely." A beat, "May I inquire the reason?"

Spock swallowed thickly, briefly analyzing the room before regarding Sarek, "It is a private matter—I do not desire to discuss it here."

An eyebrow arched curiously, "Ah, I see." Taking his own fleeting glance through the room, he stated, "I am uncertain how to proceed as your mother usually handled these conversations."

A pang of guilt struck him at the mention of his mother, "Indeed."

"Perhaps…if you are not hindered by your required duties this evening, we could converse?"

He nodded curtly, "Perhaps…I—"

"Pardon my intrusion." A soft baritone voice suddenly interjected from behind them, hastily whirling around to regard the elderly Vulcan, "But I've come to deliver a message."

Heart pounding against his side, he inquired expeditiously, "He is conscious?"

"Indeed, he is." A pressure unexpectedly built in his chest with the knowledge, "I will properly convey your apologies to your guests if you desire to ascertain his status personally?"

Taking a fleeting glance toward his father who regarded him with an inquisitive stare, he replied, "I desire to see him…I must inform the Doctor—"

"I will see that he is informed. He has already stated his whereabouts being as I have not left the medical bay since our conversation."

"I see." He stated tentatively, "Thank you."

"Of course." The elder replied, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

Nodding toward Sarek and his elder counterpart, he strode through the room with a quickened pace—breaking into a hasty jog as he entered the corridor. The pressure on his chest intensified as the lift descended, suppressing the urge to pace inside the confined space. As the doors hissed open, he impulsively bolted down the corridor, rounding the corner into the med-bay and abruptly skidded to a halt—nearly colliding with nurse Chapel.

Her cerulean eyes widened with surprise, jerking with alarm, dropping the tray she had clutched in her hands—the loud crash grating against his sensitive ears.

"Mr. Spock!" She cried, clutching a hand to her chest.

"My apologies." Bending down, he hastily gathered the scattered hyposprays and other medical supplies, placing them back onto the tray.

"It's alright, I'm sorry—you just frightened me." She laughed sheepishly. "I assume you've heard he's awake?"

"That is correct." He replied evenly, taking a fleeting glance toward the open door of the private room.

She issued a tender smile, making a wild gesture with her hand toward Jim's direction, "Well, go on. I think I can handle picking up the rest of it."

He nodded curtly, straightening himself and tugging at his formal tunic before striding toward the room. His pulse pounded in his throat as he approached the pallet, the invisible knot coiling in his core as he beheld two half-lidded, startling blue orbs peering up at him—uncertain to the degree of his coherency.

"Spock…" He croaked, his voice shaky from disuse—releasing a feeble cough.

His side constricted—placing his trembling hands at the small of his back, he replied gutturally, "Captain."

He did not like to see Jim this fragile.

"How…how long…?" His voice strained, barely audible beneath the thick respirator mask.

There was no difficulty deciphering his query, "You have been unconscious for 2.6 days." He stated expeditiously, swallowing down the hard lump lodging at the base of his throat.

Jim's head barely moved in a feeble attempt at a nod, "I see. Where's….Bones?" He inquired, shifting his head gruelingly.

Something akin to heart ache flooded over him at Jim's exerting attempts to speak.

"He is currently occupied in the labs. The Ambassador has offered to inform him of your current conscious state on my behalf."

Jim nodded again, raising his hand to the mask. He struggled to remove it as his hand trembled, analyzing his heart rate on the EKG spike from the exertion. Reflexively, he placed a hand over Jim's, suppressing the desire to retract it as he firmly pushed it back towards his face—illogically reveling in the skin to skin contact.

"I advise against this action, it may cause you harm to remove it."

Blue eyes regarded him, surprising him as he complied—abruptly halting his efforts.

"Have you…found the…intruder?"

A sudden spark of hope washed over him, acknowledging that Jim felt well enough to converse business.

The James Kirk he recognized and...admired.

"I have not obtained solid evidence indicating any additional presence aboard."

Jim groaned, eyes rolling slightly in their sockets as he battled to keep them open—immensely disconcerting. The last time he recalled observing this desperate action was behind a wall of solid glass.

The muscles in his body unexpectedly tensed.

"Are you in pain, Captain?"

Shaking his head slightly, he replied meekly, "Call me…Jim." He coughed again.

"Jim." He complied, "I am…pleased you have regained consciousness." Reaching out, he traced fingers along the clammy skin of Jim's face, beginning at the temple and gliding down to the edge of his jaw, feeling the coarse stubble scrap beneath the sensitive pads. Jim's pulse fluctuated at the contact, briefly perceiving his surprise and…pleasure before reluctantly retracting it, eyes widening with shock from his compelling need to initiate physical contact. "My apologies…" He trailed off, averting his gaze.

A silent pause filtered between them fleetingly before Jim meekly addressed him.

"Spock…do you—?"

"About time you woke up!" The familiar accented voice chided from the doorway. "I was starting to get severely irritated with your 'boyfriend' loitering around here." He stated through gritted teeth, jabbing a thumb in Spock's direction.

Spock noted how Jim's features suddenly flushed as he protested, "Not…my boyfriend, Bones."

"Right." He grinned wryly as he approached them, "Anyway, your 'boy-toy' needs to leave—I need to check you over."

Spock ticked his head, baffled by the doctor's sudden desire to dismiss him. It was peculiar as he previously appeared to harbor no qualms to Spock's presence.

"Doctor…as First Officer, it is my right to be present throughout the duration of the examination."

"Well, I'm going to have to ask you to leave for this one, Spock. Jim needs some breathing room right now."

The reason was illogical as Jim was currently aided with the respirator. Glancing from the doctor to Jim, he quickly discerned Jim's unease with the man's irrational behavior. There was something amiss with the situation—it did not bode well.

"I see." He stated uncertainly, "Then I shall expect a full report within the hour."

The man expelled another exasperated eye roll, arms folding over his chest as he retorted with a snarky remark, "Of course, when don't you?"

"Whilst I am present."

Affronted, he groused, "Get out of here, you smart-ass hobgoblin, I've got a sick patient to examine!" Maneuvering around him toward the display board, he commenced a reading of his vitals with keen interest.

Spock glanced back toward Jim, something akin to anxiousness befalling him as he acknowledged his apparent dismissal—quickly conjuring up a valid excuse to return, "I would be most inclined to participate in our current pastime activity upon the conclusion of my shift, if you are capable?"

Jim issued a lopsided grin, partly hidden by the mask, "Of course."

He curtly nodded, glancing back toward the doctor before swiftly departing.

Using Jim's vernacular, he had a "gut feeling" something was not right.

A peculiar sense overcame him that Jim was in danger.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading and please review!**


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